


The Generation of 1954

by Sailorhathor



Category: Miracles (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Gore, Psychic Abilities, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-15
Updated: 2007-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/pseuds/Sailorhathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester, Mary Campbell, and Theresa Callan are all members of the demon Azazel's generation of 1954. What will happen when they are pitted against each other in Cold Oak for a fight to the death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Oak

A _Supernatural/Miracles_ Cross-over  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Chapters:** 1 of 3 plus Epilogue  
 **Dates:** Written July-August 2007  
 **Fandom:** _Supernatural/Miracles_ cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.  
 **Universe:** Plastic Dashboard Jesus  
 **Word Count:** 23,877  
 **Rating:** Rated Adult for violence, language, brief non-con, and gore  
 **Summary:** Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The Yellow-Eyed Demon did.  
 **Prompt:** Written for **spn_xx** prompt #15 A past or future generation of the Yellow-Eyed Demons' "Special Children."  
 **Characters:** John Winchester, Mary Campbell, The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Dean Winchester, Theresa Callan, Paul Callan (primarily age 4), and OC's.  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:  
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?  
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?  
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.

I must acknowledge my friend and RPG partner K-kitty for inspiring certain aspects of this story. We once wrote an RPG story together in which her character, a techmage, defended my character from a purse-snatcher by dropping a crane arm on him. That story inspired certain events in this one. Thanks also to her for brainstorming with me on the differences between techmages and technopaths.

They never revealed Mary's maiden name or Paul Callan's middle name on either show, so I made them up. They also never revealed when Theresa Callan was born. For the purposes of this story, it was 1954. Kripke has said in the past, I'm fairly sure, that John was originally from Sacramento, California; you'll see that reflected here. EDIT: Some of this has changed since the season 4 episode "In the Beginning." We got Mary's maiden name, and it's now questionable that John was born in Sacramento. I have changed her name in this story to Mary Campbell, but I left the other things the same because it would require too much editing to fix them. This story is AU anyway.

Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.

Other notes can be found at the end of the story.

You do not need to be familiar with "Miracles" to enjoy this story. It's set very pre-series, it's AU, and I had to create most of Theresa's personality from scratch because we saw so little of her in the show. Knowledge of the series will probably help, as you'll enjoy some show references, but it's not required.

  
 **Chapter 1: Cold Oak**

  
 _1977_

        "Paul! Paaaaul!"

        Mary awoke to the sound of someone yelling outside. The female voice was full of worry and panic, just on the verge of tears. Mary sat up slowly with a hand to her aching head and groaned. She had no idea what had happened or where she was.

        "Paaaaul! Answer Mommy, please!"

         _Paul must be a child,_ Mary thought. _Otherwise, what she just said presents some pretty appalling possibilities._

        Mary looked around. She was in the living room of a rundown old house, sitting on a light blue Victorian-style couch. Both windows over the couch were broken.

        Mary wondered just how she'd wound up here, thinking, _Well, I'm not a blackout drunk... and I'm not prone to being knocked unconscious with chloroform and kidnapped like a spy in a TV show... so how did I get in this strange house that looks like it should have been condemned five minutes before I was born?_

        The woman outside was crying now. "Paul! Paul..." Loud, desperate sobbing followed. "Where are you, baby?"

        The sound bothered Mary; she felt sorry for this woman, who seemed to have lost her child. Maybe she could help find Paul. Getting up, Mary searched for a front door, found it, and stepped outside into the sunny afternoon of... wherever she was.

        Paul's mother wandered down the street just a few houses away. She had dark brown hair and identically colored eyes set into a soft, gentle face. The thing that caught Mary's attention at first, though, was that the woman carried the largest purse she had ever seen. One of those huge brocade purses usually carried by grandmas that could probably double as a floatation device if the woman was ever on a plane that crashed into the ocean. This one had a gigantic red rose embroidered on its front. Mary took a second to wonder what was in it as she walked toward the woman. _I bet the astronauts could see that thing from space,_ she joked inwardly.

        "Hello!" Mary called. "Do you need some help?"

        Mary had to get the woman's attention because she was too distracted to notice her. As Mary got closer, she saw the Catholic rosary in the woman's hand; she was fingering the beads and praying quietly, probably for God's help in the search for her child. When Mary called to her, the woman looked up, tears streaming down her face.

        Hope came into her eyes. "Oh... hello!" She rushed over to Mary. "Have you seen a little boy around here somewhere? His hair is the same color as mine. Dark eyes. His name is Paul, and he's my son."

        "No kidding?" Mary watched her root around in her purse for a picture. The woman couldn't be much older than Mary, but she carried a bag fit for an 80-year-old woman. She couldn't help but smile in amusement at it. "I kind of figured out his name. I'm sure your son will turn up. He's probably exploring one of these houses."

        "I know Paul's okay, but..." She thumbed through a few photos she'd found in her purse. "Here he is."

        Mary took the picture and examined the smiling little boy while the woman described what he was wearing that day. "This morning, I let him pick out his own clothes. He's wearing a red, blue, and yellow striped shirt and little jeans, and his blue Zips with the yellow Z's on the sides... he's only four... and he's _scared_. Will you help me find my little boy?"

        Looking into the woman's tearful eyes, Mary took hold of her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. "Don't worry, we'll find him. What's your name?"

        "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just so... I'm Theresa Callan." She tried a shaky smile. "My son is Paul. Paul Callan. He knows his name and phone number and, um, his address... I've tried to get him to memorize my work number, but he keeps reversing the last few digits. He's just four."

        Mary put an arm around her shoulders. "Try to mellow out, Theresa, okay? We'll find your son."

        "But you don't understand!" Theresa's voice shook and became shrill with panic. "His father and I aren't married. He's a very powerful man, very wealthy, and if he wanted to take Paul, he'd just _take_ him..."

        "Oh... why would he want to take Paul?"

        "He's the kind of man who's used to always getting what he wants. He hasn't expressed much interest in him so far, but you wake up in a strange, dilapidated ghost town and your mind has a tendency to draw the worst conclusions," Theresa replied.

        Smiling a little at the semi-joke, Mary nodded her head and agreed with her. "It is pretty damn strange that we wind up here with no memory of how we got here, huh? I mean, I don't do drugs or drink much, so I have no explanation. Hey, what's the last thing you remember?"

        "Paul and I were walking to the park, and..." Theresa suddenly fell silent, looking off into the distance with an expression of pure concentration. "He's close, he's close, he's... Paul!"

        Theresa took off running. Mary looked in the direction she was headed and saw a guy coming toward them with a little boy in his arms. Theresa met him in the middle and scooped Paul out of his arms. She hugged her child and kissed his face all over.

        "Oh my Paulie, my widdle Paul, I'm so glad you're okay." _Kiss, kiss, kiss._ "I woke up and I couldn't find you. Do you hurt anywhere? Your head hurts a little, doesn't it?"

        "Uh huh. Mommy..." Paul clung to her neck tightly. She kissed him some more.

        "Mommy's here. Oh thank you God... thank you Jesus..."

        Mary took notice of the guy who had apparently found Paul. He was a dark-haired rebellious hunk around her age, with sharp eyes and a confident stance, and a leather jacket to match. "You found Paul, huh?"

        He smiled at her, handsome and warm. "That's what he told me. 'My name's Paul Gabriel Callan, I live at 5542 Callahan Apartment 2 in Boston, Massachusetts. My mommy's name is Theresa Callan.' I even know your phone number now." He grinned at Theresa. "He doesn't seem to know he's not in Boston anymore. I think he got bumped on the head." He stroked Paul's head lightly. Paul smiled a little at him, his head lying on his mother's chest.

        "Thank you, thank you so much for looking after my son, uhh..."

        "John. I'm John Winchester."

        At the mere sound of that name, Mary felt a little spark in her heart. She extended a hand to him. "Mary Campbell."

        John smiled wide as he shook her hand. "Well hellooo-oo Mary." _Such pretty blonde hair and lovely smile,_ he thought.

        Paul lifted his head to look at her. "Mary is the mother of Jesus."

        "That's right." Mary stroked his hair just like John had done.

        John squinted at Theresa. "You a big church-goer?" He took in the rosary still in her hand and the crucifix around her neck.

        "Oh, yes. I couldn't live without my St. Jerome's every Sunday. Isn't that right, Paul? You love church."

        "I go to Sunday school, and Father Calero plays ball with us kids." He looked at his mother. "Mommy, where are we? Mr. John said we weren't in Massatusits."

        With a small wince, John said, "Don't call me Mr. John, kid. Makes me sound like a hairdresser. John is fine."

        "Of course we're in Massachusetts..." Theresa gazed dubiously at John. "Aren't we?"

        Shaking his head, he grinned and replied, "No ma'am. You have somehow wound up in California."

        "California!" Theresa reeled.

        "Mommy, is that anywhere near Ant-antlick City?" Paul asked.

        "No, baby, it's _nowhere_ near there." She looked at John again. "How did we get in California?!"

        Mary had started laughing at what Paul said; her giggles had grown too loud to be ignored. John and Theresa looked at her. "Ant-antlick City," Mary repeated, and giggled again.

        They grinned at her. "Yeah," Theresa laughed, nuzzling her son's head with her cheek. He didn't seem to realize what was so funny, and just looked confused.

        Mary added, "By the way, hotshot, we're not in California. We're in Kansas."

        "Oh, really? Now, I don't know exactly how much time has passed since the last thing I remember, but I doubt it was long enough for me to go from sitting in my car in Sacramento, California, to wherever you think you are in Kansas. I'd never go _that_ far from my baby."

        "Your baby?"

        Chuckling, John gave a nod. "My 1967 Chevy Impala."

        Mary whistled. "Nice wheels."

        "See? You're not in Kansas anymore."

        "But how do you know?" Theresa questioned. "I mean, it's just as likely that we're in Mary's home state or mine. We don't know how the heck we got here."

        John shifted uncomfortably at that thought. "Geez... why'd you have to suggest that? My car... who's taking care of my car?"

        "I've got a better question. What are we doing here?" wondered Mary.

        No one had an answer for her. They all looked around, taking in the windmill in the distance and the houses that looked like something out of the Old West.

        "We should probably seek shelter. The sky looks ready to storm."

        The two women and child thought John's idea sounded as good as any, so they headed for one of the rundown houses. As they walked, Paul rested his head on Theresa's shoulder; he kept looking at the empty air beside John. Finally, just as they'd reached the porch, the little boy said, "Your grandma's pretty."

        John stared at him, bewildered. "What do you mean, kid? Both my grandmothers are dead."

        Paul just shrugged.

        Theresa's eyes shifted nervously, as if she felt uncomfortable.

*****

        When they entered the house, they found it was partially occupied. Two dark-haired kids, a guy and a girl, were making out in the kitchen, her sitting on the table and him standing in front of her. Theresa gasped and hid Paul's eyes when she saw the passionate lip lock; the woman's leopard-print top was already half undone. John started to chuckle, covering his mouth.

        The couple stopped kissing and glared at the newcomers. "Oh, uhhh... hi," the guy said.

        Mary furrowed her brow. These two also seemed to be about the same age as the rest of them.

        "Who are you?" the woman asked, hastily buttoning up her shirt.

        They each introduced themselves. "You two know each other already?" Theresa asked. Her tone betrayed the fact that she sure hoped so.

        "Nope. Just met."

        Theresa raised an eyebrow.

        "I'm Beth Clinton," the girl said, hopping down off the table. "This is Jordan Kessler."

        "Hey," he said, and wiped his mouth.

        Mary questioned, "Do you know what we're all doing here?"

        They shook their heads. "Thought we'd kill some time until we figured it out," Beth explained with a mischievous wink for Jordan.

        He smiled back without showing any teeth. "We found a metal firepit, though. We were going to bring it in here and look for something to cook."

        "Firepit?"

        "Yeah, you know, one of those big metal bowl things on a stand that you can use to barbecue. It'd be safe to drag that in the house and use it, don't you think?" Jordan suggested to the others. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved."

        Shortly after, the group was sitting around the firepit while John and Jordan worked to get it ready. Through their conversation, they discovered that Jordan was from a suburb of Denver, Colorado, and Beth hailed from Corpus Christi, Texas. Neither one knew where they now were.

        Mary brought another armful of firewood.

        "Thanks, Mary," John said as he took the wood.

        Their hands touched. Mary smiled shyly.

        Jordan waited for her to walk away before he leaned over and, with a lecherous grin, said quietly to John, "Now that is one fine piece of ass."

        A protective, almost possessive surge of anger welled up in John's chest, but he hid it as best he could. After all, he'd just met Mary too. Why did he have a right to think he had any claim over her? "She's very pretty. Not a piece of ass, though," he settled for a reply.

        "Oh, sure. She's the last virgin of 1977." Jordan watched Mary cross the room, bend over to tweak Paul's little nose, and tuck some blonde hair behind her ear with a laugh. "Mm. I want a shot at that."

        That jealousy surged up in John's chest again. "Weren't you just crawlin' all over the table with Beth a little while ago?"

        Jordan blinked at him. "So? We were interrupted."

        Rolling his eyes, John snapped, "Just get the matches, will ya?"

        Everyone clapped in approval once the fire really got going. The rain started shortly after. Water dripped from a few spots on the ceiling. The group formed a circle around the firepit; Mary eagerly sat next to John, bringing a delighted smile to his face. But Jordan insisted on sitting on her other side. Beth slid in next to him, leaning on him, which he seemed to welcome also. John couldn't help but glare at him a little - who did he think he was? Did he think he deserved _both_ women? Theresa and Paul completed the circle, sitting between Beth and John. Theresa seemed safe from Jordan's advances because of the child.

        John was about to open his mouth and bring up the subject of food when Paul beat him to it, whining, "Mommy, I'm hungry."

        "I know, baby." Mary finally got to see why Theresa carried such a big purse. She began to remove various edible items from it, like crackers, spreadable cheese, sandwiches, and plastic bottles of juice. Everyone goggled at the food. Theresa looked around at the others. "You guys want some, don't you?"

        A chorus of, "Yeah, uh huh, you bet"s moved through the room in a wave, and they crowded in to get some. It was all the kind of food a child would like (the sandwiches, for instance, were peanut butter and jelly), but no one complained.

        John's eyes went wide when Theresa pulled the heel of a salami out of the bag and started to unwrap it. "Why ya carry all that food in your purse, Theresa?"

        She cringed slightly at the question, but answered it. "Children snack a lot while you're out and about. With all the preservatives they've got these days, you can carry all kinds of food around wherever you want."

        "This is an awful lot of food you've got, though."

        Looking down and picking at the Saran Wrap, Theresa shrugged.

        John continued, "I'm not complaining, though, I mean, thank you. But it's almost like you knew..."

        Theresa looked up sharply. "...Knew we were coming here? No. I had no idea."

        Paul stopped trying to spread bright yellow cheese on his Ritz cracker, wincing, and looked up at his mother. "Mommy... it's okay." He handed her the cracker. "Don't get mad."

        She took the cracker, breathing deeply. "Thank you, Paul."

        John and Mary both eyed the mother and son. It was almost like Theresa had read John's mind, and then something happened between Paul and his mother, like an invisible foot kicked him when she lashed out at John. They both thought it was strange.

        One thing Mary knew for sure was that Theresa was telling the truth. "You carry all this stuff around in your purse incase you have to take your son and... it's about what you said earlier? When you couldn't find Paul?"

        Theresa nodded.

        "I don't get it," John admitted.

        As if he could feel the awkwardness between them, Paul put his fingers in his ears. It was time for grown-up talk.

        Theresa couldn't help but laugh, and kissed the top of his head. "Yes, it's about Paul's father." Even though Paul could not really hear them now, she still spoke quietly. "He shows no real interest in our son, but he's also a powerful man who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no.' If he ever decided he wanted Paul... well, we'd have to get out of town in a hurry." She patted her purse. "I've got a change of clothes in here too."

        "Oh." John grew sheepish. "I'm sorry for what I implied, Theresa."

        "It's alright." She cut off a piece of the salami and handed it to him. "I thought maybe Paul's father had something to do with us winding up here, but he'd have no reason to take all of you too. It's truly a mystery." With an amused smile, Theresa pulled Paul's fingers out of his ears, and made a popping noise with her mouth.

        "Are you done with the tall talk?" he asked.

        John and Mary both chuckled.

        "Yes. You may go on eating."

        He looked back at her, hands on his hips, and responded jauntily, "Maybe I will."

        Laughing along with the others, Theresa ruffled his hair.

        Mary looked from one person to the other. She finally couldn't stand it anymore. "Theresa, how old are you?"

        Distractedly cutting at the meat with a hard plastic knife, she answered, "Twenty-three."

        "So am I," Mary mused.

        "Huh," exclaimed John.

        Theresa glanced up at him. "You too?"

        He nodded. "Yeah." John and Mary looked at each other.

        Beth sat straight up, a dab of cheese at the corner of her mouth. "Far out! I'm 23 too." She leaned on Jordan, rubbing his knee. "You?"

        He also nodded his head. "That's really weird."

        "What does it mean? We're all the same age," Mary wondered aloud.

        "I'm only four," added Paul, which made the others laugh and snicker.

        "That's right, Paulie, but I think Miss Mary's point still stands." Theresa bit into her piece of salami. "I certainly don't know what to..." She suddenly went quiet, listening.

        Everyone watched her and wondered what she heard. John thought he heard someone moving on the porch; he turned his head suddenly to listen with great concentration.

        Paul went on arranging his crackers, playing with the food. "Mommy, aren't we going to say grace?" All of a sudden, he too looked up like a wary cat.

        There came a sudden clatter of feet outside the front door. A girl opened the door so quickly that it startled everyone, even though they had been expecting her by then. She was Asian, with long black hair at mid-back length. Her clothes and hair dripped with rainwater. She looked at the group, then longingly at the fire.

        Mary welcomed her in. "It's okay. Come on in out of the rain."

        The girl just stared with confusion and tightly-reigned fear. Mary waved at her, and pointed to an empty spot between John and Theresa that was just big enough for the thin girl. "Have a seat," she offered.

        The Asian woman moved carefully to the empty place and sat down. She immediately put her hands up to the fire; they could all see her shivering.

        "What's your name?" Mary asked.

        The woman just looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.

        "Do you speak English?" John asked.

        She seemed to understand a tiny bit of what he'd said. "Little. Little Eng-lish," she replied very slowly and carefully.

        John pointed to himself. Everyone watched the exchange with rapt interest. "John," he said. "I'm John Winchester." Then he pointed at her.

        She looked at her clothes like she expected to see something worth pointing at. Then she got it. "Ah. Ah, John," she said, again slowly. She pointed to herself. "Natraya. Natraya Summakul."

        "Natraya, that's beautiful," crooned Mary. Meeting an Asian person who hadn't grown up in America, with different clothes and an exotic name, was a pretty exciting event for a not-so-well traveled girl like Mary.

        They went around the circle with the introductions. Then John said, "I was in the Vietnam War. You look like you could be from that area. Vietnam?"

        Natraya tried hard to understand what he was saying. She shook her head at the last word. "Thailand," she answered.

        "Ohhh, Thailand. You have that Southeastern Pacific look." John waved his hand in front of his face to indicate what part of her reminded him of that area of the world.

        Natraya just stared at him and finally nodded with a polite smile.

        Continuing with her theory, Mary tried to communicate with the girl by asking, "How old are you?" She pointed to herself. "Twenty-three," she said slowly. "You?" And she pointed at Natraya.

        Natraya obviously didn't understand. She tried to, but just stared at Mary with raised eyebrows.

        Mary took out her driver's license. She showed it to her. "Do you have one?"

        After she examined the piece of plastic, Natraya reached into her pocket and dug out an ID card. No one could read the bulk of it, as it wasn't in English, but there were some numbers on it they recognized.

        John looked at the others with an uneasiness about him. "1954," he read off the card.

        "She's 23, like us." Frustrated, Mary pounded a fist on the floor. "What does it mean?"

        John took her hand and kissed the side that she'd hit against the ground. "Don't hurt yourself because you're frustrated. We'll figure it out."

        She just looked at him with a small, lovely smile.

        Jordan took his turn to roll his eyes.

        Theresa, digging around in her bag, said, "You should get out of those wet clothes. I've got extra." She held out her change of clothes. "Natraya? For you."

        Natraya looked at the clothes with confusion.

        Theresa added, "To borrow," and held them out further.

        Natraya finally seemed to get it. To indicate the condition of her own clothes, she peeled a section of her shirt away from her wet body, then pointed to the dry clothing in Theresa's hands.

        "Yes," she replied. "For you to wear."

        With a grateful smile, Natraya took the clothes and stood up. She pointed in the direction of an adjoining room.

        "Yeah, you go in there and get changed."

        She seemed to understand, and, nodding, headed for the room. Before she disappeared around the corner, Natraya carefully said, "Thank... you."

        They were still talking and eating around the fire when Natraya came back a few minutes later, wearing Theresa's far more American clothes. Her wet clothing had been hung on wooden chairs in the adjoining dining room, and was currently dripping all over the floor, leaving round spots and small puddles in the dust. She stood in one place, self-conscious, until the others waved her over and encouraged her to sit by the fire again.

        Paul held out some of the cheese and cracker sandwiches he'd made. "Would you like some?"

        "Yeah, you look hungry. Eat up." John put a sandwich in front of her.

        At first, Natraya looked at them, then at the food, and took the crackers hesitantly, like she wasn't sure she was entitled to it. She began to eat with everyone's eyes curiously on her. Natraya bobbed back and forth, nodding with her upper body, and smiling. "Thank you," she said, a little more confidently than she had before. Natraya chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the texture of this food, which was of a type she didn't eat much of at home.

        "You're welcome. There's more where that came from," Theresa told her happily.

        That brought a sudden thought to John. Should they ration the food? How long would they be here? No one else seemed to be thinking of those things. He wasn't sure what he should say to the others about his concerns.

        Theresa looked at him suddenly, like she knew he was worried. Within seconds, his body language reflected it, from the slow, distracted way he chewed to the frown lines across his forehead.

        Natraya smiled lovingly and a little sadly at Paul, as if he reminded her of someone, and patted his small head. While she ate, she attempted to communicate her own concerns. "Thailand?" She looked at Theresa, then John.

        "Hm?"

        She swept her arms above her head, making an arc. She seemed to be indicating the entire area around them. "Thailand?" Natraya asked again.

        John realized what she was saying, and his eyes drooped sadly. "No... I don't think you're in Thailand right now, Natraya. To be honest, we're not sure where we are."

        "But we think it's somewhere in America, because of the houses," Mary added.

        "How can we be sure of that?" Jordan cut in. "Other countries have 'American'-style houses."

        They all fell uncomfortably silent.

        Looking at them with confusion, Natraya said, "Not Thailand?"

        John shook his head. "I don't think so."

        She stared back at him, apprehensive, and swallowed hard.

        They ate in silence for several minutes. No one knew what to say, or wanted to talk about it, really. They had no explanations, at least none they had connected to being in this deserted town yet. None of them knew when they would be able to go home.

        Or if.

        Harried and frightened, Beth finally spoke up. "There has to be some other reason why we were brought here. It can't be because we're all twenty-three. That makes no sense." She took out a cigarette and tried to light it with shaking hands. "We weren't even born in the same place. If we'd been born in the same hospital, or something, I could at least make sense of it. You know, like a story on a soap opera. Or, if we were all chosen to be international spies and this was the start of our training..."

        "That's ridiculous," John half-mumbled.

        "I didn't say it _was_ the explanation. I just said that if it was like something from a movie, at least I'd have one," Beth said back angrily. "Have you got any bright ideas?"

        John tried to think of a reason that this could be happening, but he had to shake his head in frustration. "I can't think of anything either. It really is like something you'd see on television."

        Beth took a long, shaky drag off her cigarette. She startled everyone when she suddenly cried, "What are we _doing_ here?!"

        Looking from one person to another in bewilderment, Natraya said, very slowly and carefully, "Yellow-eyed man?"

        Several of the group gasped. Paul instantly looked up from arranging his crackers into a picture of a dog and stared at the Thai girl in fear. They were all shocked.

        They all knew whom she meant.

        "You've seen him too?!" Mary cried. "I've had dreams about him!"

        "I have too!" Beth said, her tone bordering on hysteria.

        "I thought they were just nightmares about the devil," Theresa told them, throwing her hat in. "Trying to tempt me... what does that mean, that you've all dreamed about him too?"

        John suddenly grabbed Natraya by the arms. She reacted with confusion and fright. "What do you know? What do you know about the Yellow-Eyed Man?!" He shook her a little. "Why did you say that?!"

        Natraya shook her head frantically.

        "Stop pretending you can't understand us! You know something, don't you?"

        She wildly shook her head again. In reaction, John rattled her teeth in her head with a harder shake. "Tell us why he brought us here!"

        "She doesn't know!" Theresa cried, reaching over to try to pry John's hand off one of Natraya's arms. "Let her go!"

        "How do _you_ know?" John growled back.

        "Because I can feel it!"

        John stopped, looking at her as if he partially understood what she meant.

        "You've had dreams about him too, haven't you?" Theresa questioned. John glared back at her with wide, searching eyes. "He encourages you to use whatever abilities you have to do evil. Doesn't he?"

        Shocked, John slowly released Natraya's arms, not taking his eyes off Theresa. Natraya sobbed and scooted herself across the floor, squeezing herself into a corner across the room. She covered her head with her arms and made little sound above frightened whimpers.

        "Look what you did!" Mary yelled scoldingly. She got up, stepped over John, and went to Natraya's side, trying to comfort her.

        John did look, but quickly brought his eyes back to Theresa. "How do you know what I've been dreaming?"

        "Isn't it obvious? Because I've been dreaming it too."

        Paul put his fists to his eyes and began to cry. Theresa scooped him up, holding him, stroking his back. "Shhh, Paulie, it's okay."

        Beth wasn't that far from tears herself. "Why does he want us?"

        "Because we can all do things. You know what I'm talking about." Theresa glanced at Natraya. "Natraya's terrified because she hardly knows what we're saying, and she's been trying so hard to communicate with us, but it hasn't been easy. You can't imagine how much fear she's been holding back since she got here, especially since we told her this probably isn't Thailand. Can you imagine? At least there's a good chance we weren't transported _halfway across the world_."

        "How do you know all that?" John asked.

        "Because I'm an empath. My son and I both are. That means we can sense the emotions of others." Theresa cuddled her cheek to Paul's head. "Sometimes, my little boy drowns in what other people are feeling. I try to buffer it, but I can't always overcome his will. He's just a baby. Someone so little can't fully understand these abnormal things he can do." Her voice quavered with threatening tears.

        "Buffer it?" John questioned.

        Theresa looked at him with glistening eyes. "I created an empathic link between us. I can tell what he's feeling because of that link. And I can also control it at times."

        His voice sounding threatened, Jordan said, "Control it?"

        Theresa nodded. "I'm a projective empath."

        "You mean, you can make us feel whatever you want?" Beth questioned in an incredulous tone.

        "Yes. For the most part." She looked at each of them. "But you know I'm not crazy. You've had the dreams. He wouldn't have brought you here if you couldn't do something too. So what is it? What can _you_ do?" Theresa again addressed them each individually with her eyes.

        John pointed at Mary and Natraya. "Make Natraya stop crying. You say you can control emotions, now do it."

        "Oh, so you require proof? Fine." She turned partially toward the Thai girl. "Natraya? It's alright. No one's going to hurt you. Do you hear the tone of my voice? Very soothing. No reason to cry anymore. No reason to cry." Theresa's tone was very calming and hypnotic.

        At first, Natraya kept her arms over her head, covering her face, and continued to cower in the corner, not even responding to Mary's efforts to comfort her. Within seconds of Theresa beginning to speak, Natraya peeked out from behind her forearms. She had her arms down by the time Theresa finished. The sobbing stopped, and diminished to sniffles.

        "That's it. Why don't you come back over here? You feel calm." Theresa held out her free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around Paul. He had stopped crying too, and just sat in his mother's lap with his head in the crook of her neck.

        Natraya stood and strolled back over to the circle. She was practically smiling while she took Theresa's hand and sat down. She looked at John and grinned, almost giddy.

        Mary marveled over the difference as she headed back to the group too. "Do you have to talk to the person like that to make it work?"

        "No. It's just something I do." Theresa patted Natraya's arm. "I'll stop now."

        Almost instantly, Natraya looked on John with fear, recoiling from him. Mary sat down between the two of them and tried to soothe her. "I won't let him do anything else to you, Natraya." She glared at John challengingly.

        He couldn't help but smirk, pleased with her. John liked a challenging, strong woman who wasn't afraid to put him in his place. " _You're_ going to stop me?"

        "I sure am." Mary put a hand on her hip, giving him an intimidating look.

        He barely held back a boisterous laugh, not at her expense, but because he found her so cute like that. When they got out of this, John wanted a date. "I believe ya."

        "When you two are finished flirting..." Jordan began.

        John and Mary both shot him a dirty look.

        "...I'd like to say that what you just did?" Jordan indicated Theresa. "That was supremely creepy. Stay out of my head, okay?"

        Although her expression showed a bit of obvious hurt, Theresa shrugged. "You can keep me out if your will is strong enough. But I have no business in there anyway. You don't have to worry about it."

        John knew he was bringing up a touchy subject before he even opened his mouth, but he did it anyway. His mother always said he was too mouthy for his own good. "You said that Paul's an empath too, right?"

        "Uh huh."

        "But there are other things he can do."

        Theresa, narrowing her eyes, said, "What do you mean?"

        "Earlier in the day, Paul was looking to my right, and he said that my grandmother is pretty. But my grandmother's not anywhere near here. In fact, both my grandmas have been dead since I was a teenager," John explained.

        With discomfort, Theresa shifted and fidgeted, finally giving a shrug. "He has a big imagination."

        "He speaks to the dead, doesn't he?"

        Theresa immediately covered Paul's ears. "Don't say that!"

        Paul buried his face in her neck, whimpering.

        "What do you mean, don't say it? Is it true or not?"

        "It's forbidden!"

        John, confused, tried to figure out what she meant. "What's forbidden? Talking to the dead?"

        "Yes!" Theresa looked quite stricken and ready to shed fresh tears at this topic of conversation. "It says it in the Bible."

        Not being raised religiously, John never fully understood people who lived by the spiritual teachings of any book. But he could plainly see that Theresa held the words of the Bible close to her heart. "Surely the book isn't referring to stuff like this. The kid can't help it if he's been given a gift. The Bible just means don't play with Ouija boards and crap like that."

        Theresa shook her head. "It _is_ referring to stuff like this. Paul's not supposed to talk to them. It's wrong."

        "Why would God give the kid an ability like that if he wasn't meant to use it?" John asked angrily.

        Theresa shot back, "Who said it was God?"

        They stared at each other with intense expressions and even more dramatic emotions running through them. She added, "Sometimes, we're tested, and there are things we're supposed to resist in life. This very well may be my son's test of faith."

        John paused, silent and tense, and then hissed, "Bullshit."

        Theresa ground her teeth for a moment. "Do you have any kids?" she finally asked.

        "No."

        "When you have children, you can decide how they're raised. In the meantime, don't criticize how I raise my son."

        "I wouldn't criticize it if you weren't just plain wrong," John said sarcastically. He knew he was being a bit of a jerk, and would react the same way Theresa was reacting if anyone ever criticized his parenting decisions, but John had a problem keeping his mouth shut when he probably should. It had gotten him into more than one fight in his life. He didn't much care. John would rather be alone with his clear conscience than have a hundred unaccountable friends.

        Her mouth tight, Theresa glared at him. Before she could respond, Mary put in her two cents.

        "Quit picking on her," Mary commanded in a cross voice. "She has a right to her beliefs. You have no idea what it's like to raise a child like Paul. Being a single mother must be hard enough, and then... is it even good for a child to speak to the dead?" She had lowered her voice, but Theresa remained holding Paul's ears. He could still feel all their emotions swirling around inside him; it showed in his pained expression. "He's so young. Can he even understand what the other side is like?"

        John scoffed. "The kid didn't seem afraid of my granny."

        Paul whimpered.

        "Can we stop talking about this?" Theresa asked. She sounded annoyed and tired. "I need to put Paul to bed soon, and we haven't yet heard what _you_ can do," she said to John with a sarcastic tone.

        As she requested, John dropped it. He changed the subject by answering her question. "Well, I imagine I'm here because of my special relationship with my best girl." John smirked when he said it.

        Mary couldn't help but frown. That was the worst news ever. "Your best girl?"

        "My car," confessed John, and looked at Mary to see her reaction.

        She couldn't help showing her delight at that response, either. His _car_.

        Theresa looked at them both, mooning over each other, and grinned a tiny bit. No matter how he'd acted toward her, Theresa knew there was something right about John and Mary together. There was real possibility there. She could feel it.

        "What do you mean, you have a special relationship with your _car?_ " questioned Jordan.

        "I've always been talking to machines. It never seemed strange to me until I was old enough to realize that other people couldn't do it. So I read some books about that kind of stuff." John spoke about his ability with wonder and pride. "Turns out I'm a technopath."

        "You can talk to your car? The '67 Impala you told us about?" Mary asked.

        "Yeah," John grinned.

        Jordan added, "Does it talk back?" He sounded doubtful.

        "In a way. It all happens in my head. How do you think the thing still runs on all its original parts?" John tapped his temple. "You gotta sweet talk 'er."

        "Huh."

        John didn't care if Jordan believed him or not. He was just happy that Mary did. "What about you, Mary?"

        She shyly looked down into her lap. "Oh, I just have dreams sometimes. About what's going to happen. And then they come true. And I can mimic the powers of others. Nothing big."

        "Nothing big?" John said incredulously. "You see the future?"

        Mary looked up at him tentatively. "Sometimes."

        Theresa could feel the worry in the back of Mary's mind. She wasn't telling the whole truth.

        "I can do that too. Mimic the powers of others," Jordan said quietly.

        He was telling the truth. But Theresa had a hard time reading the full range of his emotions. It was like he could block her, like Jordan knew how to keep her out. The wall he put up, it felt... it felt like he'd been _practicing_ how to do it. But that would require some foreknowledge of empathy, wouldn't it? Why would Jordan practice such a thing when he didn't even seem to know what empathy was before this day? Theresa hugged her sleepy son closer to her, feeling a sense of foreboding in the air.

        Beth volunteered her information before she was asked. "I, um, have this thing where I can manipulate pheromones." She spoke directly to Jordan. "But I promise I didn't use it on you. You really wanted to kiss me."

        Everyone giggled, except Paul, who didn't know what pheromones were. He kept nodding off on his mother's shoulder, sleeping in that deep, almost comatose way that children had, so that not even all the conversation disturbed him.

        Mary looked at Natraya, who seemed fairly sleepy herself. "I wonder what she can do? If only we could ask her..."

        "Let's save it for the morning, okay? We all need sleep." John stood up and got the top to the firepit; it wasn't a good idea to leave it exposed and possibly start a fire.

        "I don't know if I want to stay here overnight. It's creepy," Beth commented.

        John replied, "I took a look around before I stumbled upon Paul. This city seems to be completely surrounded by a very dense forest. You couldn't even get a car through. So the alternative to sleeping here is hiking out through those trees... in the dark."

        Shuddering, Beth concluded, "I think we'll spend the night."


	2. Taet

**Chapters:** 2 of 3 plus Epilogue  
 **Fandom:** _Supernatural/Miracles_ cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.  
 **Universe:** Plastic Dashboard Jesus  
 **Word Count:** 23,877  
 **Rating:** Rated Adult for violence, language, brief non-con, and gore  
 **Summary:** Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The Yellow-Eyed Demon did.  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:  
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?  
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?  
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.

Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.

Other notes can be found at the end of the story.

  
 **Chapter 2: Taet**

        The house where they'd taken up temporary residence had three bedrooms. John insisted that Mary and Theresa take the bed, along with Paul, and he slept in a chair near the door, to guard them. Jordan and Beth took another bedroom, and Natraya took the last. That seemed to suit her fine, as she was still skittish of John.

        They all dreamed of him. The Yellow-Eyed Man.

        He had many tricks up his sleeve, knew exactly what to say, to get the most reaction out of each of them individually. Whatever would manipulate them into playing his game. Before the night was over, only one would be left standing.

        "Winner take all," the Yellow-Eyed Man said to himself.

        A lesser demon, one of the regular inhabitants of this town, approached him. "Great One, let me test the psychic children. If they can stand against me, surely they are meant to be the leader you are looking for." The demon produced razor-sharp claws from the ends of her fingers.

        "All in due time."

        "How will you get them to turn against each other? They were getting along pretty well earlier."

        The Yellow-Eyed Man smiled maniacally. "I've already turned one of them to my way of thinking. The others will follow suit simply because they don't want to die."

        The little demon was doubtful that it would be as easy as the Great One thought. "But what about the little boy? What is he doing here?"

        The Yellow-Eyed Man grinned again. "I thought he'd make things interesting. No, he's not a member of my generation of 1954, but... wouldn't it be _amusing_ if I could get his own mother to be the one who kills him?"

        "That would be quite fun, but how are you going to do that?"

        "The woman's very religious. If I can convince her he's got evil in him, she might just send her precious child to be with the Lord in order to save his soul." The Yellow-Eyed Man thought about how glorious such a development could be. If there was anything he liked more than seeing a beautiful woman bleeding and burning on the ceiling above his head, it was watching a mother kill her own child. "Wouldn't that be delicious? She wouldn't even know that she'd really be sending him into Hell, into my service. I _love_ the irony."

        The demon asked, "What if the child wins?"

        Upon considering that, the Yellow-Eyed Man laughed boisterously. "Now _that_ would be something to see. If he can manage that, he'll deserve all the spoils."

        "Oh, I'd better get out of sight." The demon pointed to an approaching figure. "They're all dreaming about you."

        Natraya came toward them. The demon left before she could see her.

        The Yellow-Eyed Man smiled warmly at the Thai girl, trying for the moment to be comforting. "Sawatdee," he said with a tip of his head.

        Natraya knew she shouldn't feel safer around this man, but she couldn't help it. He was the only one in the town who spoke her language.

*****

        "Hello Mary."

        She knew that voice. Mary turned to see the Yellow-Eyed Man standing nearby. The others were still asleep around her, and she had a feeling that she was still sleeping too, that this was all a dream. Mary didn't want to hear what he had to say, but she didn't seem to have the ability to wake herself up. She refused to look at him, just glanced around at the sleeping forms of Theresa, Paul, and John.

        "Mary, why didn't you tell them everything?"

        She kept her eyes on John's face.

        "Do you think they'll be afraid of you if they know? Will they look at you the way they looked at Theresa when she said she could control their emotions?"

        Mary's eye twitched.

        "You can't withhold information from me, Mary. You know that." The Yellow-Eyed Man walked around to her front; Mary simply turned away again. "I know you can manipulate human memory. Make people forget things, make them remember it differently, rearrange, highlight, and signify. This isn't something you do to just yourself, now is it?"

        "Stop it," Mary said quietly, finally acknowledging him.

        "I bet they'd be pretty afraid of you if they knew you could wipe their memories clean."

        "Stop it!" she replied, louder and stronger.

        Of course, the Yellow-Eyed Man continued. "But I'll never be afraid of you, Mary. You're beautiful just the way you are." He touched her chin, tried to move her face toward his, but she turned her head forcefully. "Sometimes, people deserve a good mind-cleaning, don't they? Some people have _very_ dirty minds."

        Mary winced and moved away to the other side of the room. "Shut up."

        "Some things are very hard to wipe from your own mind, aren't they, Mary?" The Yellow-Eyed Man kept his distance for a bit. "Other people, their minds can be quite pliable, almost like rearranging a card file, but your own mind... that's much trickier. You've managed to do it, though, sometimes. Like when you erased the disturbing dreams you've had about these people you met today. The generation of 1954?"

        Mary looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. "What?"

        "Oh, but you don't remember. Except that no memory can be completely destroyed. Only imploded. Fragmented." He wiggled his fingers in the air, imitating the scattering memories. "Locked away in the subconscious. Do you remember your dreams, Mary? I can help..." He reached toward her.

        "Don't touch me!" Mary yelled, covering her ears and moving away.

        "You can't shut me out," the Yellow-Eyed Man laughed. "There's always a piece of me inside you." Grinning, he pursued her across the room. "Remember your dreams of John, grinding people up with a rototiller? And Beth poisoning Jordan with a single touch? She didn't mention that power, did she? But you already know about it in the bowels of your mind. Who could forget Theresa wrapping her hands around Paul's little neck and choking him to death? Remember those frightened little eyes and the begging? 'Mommy, please stop, I can't breathe.' Like music to my ears."

        Horrified, Mary winced hard, and moved out the door into the hall. "Stop talking about it. I don't want to remember those dreams."

        "Why not, Mary? Because sometimes they come true?" The Yellow-Eyed Man followed her. "It's like playing the lottery. Which dreams will happen and which ones will just stay possibilities? Why don't we wait and see whose number comes up?"

        "Can't you just stop?!" Mary snapped. She was on the verge of tears.

        The Yellow-Eyed Man had a good laugh at her expense. "Oh, I'm sorry. Sometimes I go too far." He leaned against the wall with a wry grin. "I'm only tough on the ones I really like."

        "Somehow, that doesn't comfort me in the least," she replied.

        He chuckled. "Cute, Mary. Ya got spunk."

        Mary rolled her eyes. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me?"

        "Because I want you to win." He dared to move closer. "You're my favorite."

        She made a face, not liking the sound of that. "Win what?"

        "This is a horserace, Mary. Only one of you gets out alive. If you want to be that person, you have to take out all of the others." The Yellow-Eyed Man ran his finger across his neck, making a slashing sound.

        Mary was, again, horrified, and recoiled. "You can't be serious."

        "Oh, Mary, you know me better than that."

        She just glared in silence for several moments, unsure what to say. "Why me?" Mary finally asked. "Why am I your favorite?"

        "Because you're ruthless, Mary. I've seen you in your pursuit of revenge."

        She looked down at the floor, embarrassed, unwilling to go down this road of discussion.

        He continued. "I've been watching you. I watch all of my chosen ones. Since the day your mother died in that nursery fire, I've kept tabs on what you've been doing. And there were times when my Mary was _very_ busy doing the kind of work I like."

        She suddenly brought her head up, eyes seething, mouth hissing. "He deserved _everything_ I did to him. It was justice, not revenge. And I'd do it again if I had the choice."

        "There's my girl," the Yellow-Eyed Man cooed with a snicker. "I know what your uncle did to you, Mary, and what you did to repay him. I applaud you for sticking up for yourself."

        "I'm not sure that's the best way to put it..."

        "Sure it is. That kind of ingenuity is exactly what I want in the person who leads my army. Someone who isn't afraid to hurt people who have done bad things." He leaned on the wall next to her. "And hasn't _everyone_ done something bad in their lifetime, Mary?"

        She was still stuck on his first couple of sentences. "Your _army_?"

        The Yellow-Eyed Man patted her shoulder. "It may be too much for you to grasp all at once. Just remember, you're gonna want to get in the game sometime. Once the others realize that only one of you gets out alive, well... I'm sure you'll change your mind about defending yourself. You may even deign to use violent force. Won't that be fun?" Grinning devilishly, he gave Mary a little wave. "We'll talk more later."

        She awoke with a startled sound, jerking hard enough to shake the headboard. Mary immediately looked to her right at the figure sitting up on the bed.

        It was Paul. In the dim moonlight coming in through the window, Mary could see his frightened, tear-streaked face staring back at her. He whimpered and scurried off the bed.

        "Paul?" Mary whispered, not currently wanting to wake anyone else. When he ran out of the room, she followed him, calling to him a little louder.

        The noise they made was too soft to wake anyone else in the house. Anyone who was still asleep, that is.

*****

        Jordan and Beth had decided to continue what they had started earlier on the kitchen table.

        Between kisses, Jordan teased, "How could you wake me up? I was having the nicest dream."

        Beth smacked his shoulder. "If you don't stop that, I'll start to think you don't really like me."

        They kissed a minute more. "Wow, those pheromones make you really horny, don't they?" he suddenly asked.

        Beth hit him harder. "Quit it. You know what makes me horny."

        Shortly after, Jordan interrupted them yet again. "Don't you want to know what I was dreaming about?"

        "Later."

        "I was dreaming..." _Kiss, kiss._ "...about him."

        That stopped her cold. "Him?"

        "The Yellow-Eyed Man."

        Beth shuddered underneath him. "I did too." She paused. "Dreamed of the Yellow-Eyed Man. But let's not talk about it, okay? The things he suggested... I don't even want to think about it. We're going to find a way out of here in the morning. Until then, we're just not going to - "

        "He told you about the contest?" Jordan questioned.

        Beth paused for an abnormally long amount of time before answering. "You mean this whole thing about only one of us gets out alive?"

        "Yeah. What do you think about that?"

        "It's crazy," she said with a shrug. "We've just got to get out of here."

        "You don't think it could happen?" Jordan wondered.

        "Those people we met tonight seem way too nice to kill anybody."

        "But do we really know them?" asked Jordan, opening a new can of worms. "That John seemed kind of violent."

        Beth paused again to give it some thought. "Yeah, he did, a little... you think we should leave early and try to hike out of here on our own?"

        "No... no. I just thought we should talk about it. You see, the Yellow-Eyed Man has been talking to me for some time. Months, really. And he said - "

        "He's actually spoken to you? Not just in dreams?" said Beth with concern.

        Jordan, nodding, explained, "I hear his voice while I'm awake. You want to know what he told me?"

        "What?"

        "That Mary is his favorite out of all of us. And that if I really wanted to win his favor, I'd have to take her out too. He didn't think it'd be easy."

        Beth shuddered again, and squirmed under him. "That's really creepy, man. Can we stop talking about this?"

        He did not stop. "Mary's much prettier than you. I hope I get to screw her before I strangle her."

        Eyes wide, Beth scrambled to turn over and roll off the bed. Jordan's hands closed around her throat before she could scream. They struggled, her choking for air.

        "Or _while_ I'm strangling her would be even better." He squeezed harder, and she struck at his shoulders and arms. "You, though, I'm not that interested in you. I'm just killing you because I want to win."

        Beth gagged and choked. She put the heel of her palm against his chin and pushed upward as hard as she could. It seemed to hurt, but only made him snicker with amusement at her efforts to escape. Jordan still did not let go. Beth then put her hand flat against his neck.

        "I've been planning this all year, ever since he told me I'd be brought here for this competition. I've been _practicing_. I've gotten very good at killing people, Beth. Formidable men like John, they present a real challenge, but a small, petite thing like you? Piece of..." Jordan trailed off, making a face like he was going to throw up. His hands loosened slightly around her neck. "Did we withhold information, Beth?"

        Her hand tightened around the left side of his neck. Jordan couldn't swat it off unless he let go of her throat, but that stopped being a problem as an overwhelming wave of nausea made him just about faint. Next thing he knew, Jordan was on his side on the bed and Beth was on the floor, trying to get up, coughing and gasping for air.

        Using every bit of will he had, Jordan sat up slowly, clawing at the bed. He hadn't felt this sick since he'd gotten food poisoning when he was ten. He concentrated for a moment. "Remember I said I was a Mimic, Beth? You didn't tell us about this power to poison people with just a touch. Probably thought it would scare everyone, hm?" Jordan managed to grab her by the hair as she tried to get the strength to run.

        "H-h... he... heee... llll... p..." Beth wheezed.

        "Trying to poison me only gave me the chance to absorb your ability. You produce the poison at will, but you'll die if you get it anywhere but on your hands. Right?" He lifted one of her hands, showing it to her. "That's what these calluses are about."

        Beth smacked and scratched at his face with all her might. They struggled, falling to the floor. Jordan covered her mouth with one hand and kept hold of her hair with the other. Within seconds, her eyelids fluttered and she groaned.

        "How's it feel to be poisoned with your own ability?" he asked with a snicker.

        All the color drained out of Beth's face. She panted, finally choking out, "Bastard."

        Removing his hand from her mouth, Jordan said, "What's that? What did you call me? The winner?"

        Beth tried to bring her foot up and kick him, but it just hovered an inch off the floor for a few seconds and dropped back down. All the fight had gone out of her. The sickness in her stomach was making her feel so bad that she thought she might pass out.

        "This poisoning thing is fun, but not nearly as enjoyable as what we were doing before. Hey, I guess I can do both at the same time, huh?" With that, Jordan's hands closed around her throat again.

        When it was done, Jordan stood over Beth's dead body, panting, feeling exhilarated and aroused. It always made him feel aroused, doing this. The wide, frightened eyes. Pleading. Kicking. Scratching. Fighting. But he always won. Even in the close calls, when they almost got away, Jordan had always won in the end.

        Like he would this time.

        He'd originally planned to kill Mary last. Jordan wasn't sure he could do that now. He wanted her, wanted her _bad_.

        Of course, he could always just restrain Mary, use her for his pleasure, and kill her later. Maybe the Yellow-Eyed Man would even let him keep Mary as a plaything if he killed the others in entertaining ways. Their illustrious host seemed to appreciate irony.

        Perhaps the Yellow-Eyed Man would like seeing the technopath ground up by the blades of a rototiller.

        Jordan peered through the dark into the room where Mary was supposed to be sleeping. But she wasn't there. Neither was the kid.

        He couldn't wait to find her.

*****

        Paul had run blindly into the house across the street. These abandoned houses weren't the least bit safe for any of them, especially a child. Mary called, "Paul!" in a hushed tone and followed him into the house.

        She heard a sound like a cabinet closing as she entered. "Paul!" she called a little louder. "It's me, Mary. You don't have to be afraid of me." Mary went into the kitchen.

        A shuffling sound came from under the sink. She crouched down beside the cabinet door. "Paul? Are you in there? It's Mary. You don't have to be afraid."

        The door opened a crack, and Paul's face peered out from the dark, draped in deep shadow. "I had a bad dream," he said sadly.

        Mary sat down by the cabinet. "You want to come out and tell me about it?"

        He shook his head.

        "You want to tell me about it from in there?"

        Paul nodded.

        "Okay. What happened in your nightmare?" Mary asked.

        "I saw the Yellow-Eyed Man," Paul responded, voice colored by imminent tears. "He told me... he told me..." The little boy started to cry.

        "You can tell me, Paul."

        Changing his mind, Paul suddenly burst out of the cabinet and crawled into Mary's lap, hugging her neck. "He told me my mommy was going to die, and that I could save her if I did some very bad things. I don't want to hurt anyone! But what if he's right? Is my mommy going to die?"

        Stroking his hair, Mary gave his temple a little kiss. "Oh, Paul, of course not. Your mommy is going to be just fine. I promise. The Yellow-Eyed Man is very bad. You must not listen to him. Okay?"

        "Okay." Paul cried on her shoulder a little while longer. "It was a really scary dream."

        "I know. I had one too. Why don't we go back to bed, hm?" Mary smoothed his hair off his forehead.

        "Will you wake my mom up so she can bless the room against monsters?" he asked.

        "Okay. I'm sure she won't mind." Mary started to get up, but Paul suddenly clutched her arm with a start. "What's wrong?"

        His wary eyes darted back and forth. "There's someone else here."

        Mary whispered, "Can you feel them?" She listened. A floorboard creaked. "Hello? Theresa?" As she stood, Mary picked up Paul and made her way cautiously toward the front door. "I've got your son here."

        The front door was wide open. Mary had closed it behind her. But there was no one in the living room, and no one answered her.

        "It doesn't feel like my mom," Paul advised.

        As Mary turned to her right, someone grabbed her from behind. There was a confusing struggle in the dark. Mary put Paul down and yelled, "Run, Paul! Hide!" and then began trying to hurt the man who had accosted her in any way she could. Paul screamed and cried for a few moments before running off into the house. Next thing Mary knew, she was feeling extremely sick and collapsing to the floor with the man's weight on top of her.

        Jordan still had some of Beth's poisoning ability inside him. It was fading, but he only needed it long enough to weaken Mary. Once she was down, Jordan started tying her hands behind her back with some rope he'd found in the garage of the other house.

        Mary tried to scream, but she didn't have the strength. "What did you do to me?" she asked in a slow, weak voice.

        "Beth had the power to poison people. I'm mimicking it." He turned her over on her side and started to tie her ankles together. "You know all about that, right?"

        "I knew you were a jerk, Jordan, but this... why?"

        "Oh, Mary..." Jordan patted her thigh. "...you had the dream about the Yellow-Eyed Man, just like the rest of us. This is a contest, baby. And I want to win."

        "You can't," Mary protested. "You can't just kill people to gain his favor. We don't even know who he is."

        "With what he's promising? I'll take my chances. Besides..." Jordan grinned evilly in the dark. "...I kinda like it."

        Mary gawked at him. "Killing people?!"

        Jordan nodded. "But don't worry, sweetie. I'm not going to kill you. I'm hoping the Yellow-Eyed Man will let me keep you as a prize." He looked into Mary's shocked and horrified eyes as he shoved the gag into her mouth and tied it around her head.

        Now that she was under his full control, Jordan took his time turning Mary over and leaning her against the front of the couch in the living room. He ran a hand along the curve of her jaw. "You're a very beautiful girl, Mary. You know that?"

        Mary recoiled from his touch.

        "You've been rejecting me all night, but you'll feel differently after I've won this competition." Jordan leaned in and kissed her neck. When she flinched away from him, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Mary screamed against the gag. Jordan took his time kissing and licking her throat. "This is just a prelude. Later, we'll do a lot more. I know you won't like it at first, but you'll learn to see things differently."

        Just to make sure she knew he called the shots now, Jordan slowly ran his hand over one of Mary's breasts, lingering where he found some response. Mary squeezed her eyes shut.

        "We shouldn't do this now. I still need to find that kid. But... we have a little time..." Jordan put his hands on her stomach and started to slide her shirt up.

        Mary kicked out violently with her bound feet. She got him in the abdomen. Jordan let out a sudden whoosh of air, grunting, "Oof!" and moved back. Scared this wouldn't be enough to stop him, Mary turned her head to the side and started to cry.

        He chuckled deeply. "I like a girl with spunk."

        Something fell over in the room above their heads.

        After looking up, Jordan grasped Mary's chin and spoke right into her face. "Next time you hurt me, I hurt you. Now, you've got to spend some time in the closet while I take care of Paul."

        She shook her head vigorously. "Leave him alone! Don't hurt him!" Mary screamed into the gag.

        Although it was muffled, he basically understood what she said. "I'll see if there's some way he can be allowed to live. I'm not sure that he's a player in this anyway. But, he'll be the only one I show any mercy toward. Understand that. You can beg for only one life besides your own."

        Jordan dragged her off and put her in the hall closet. The last thing he saw before he closed the door was her frightened eyes.

        He headed up the stairs. The little boy was hiding up here somewhere. Jordan remembered Theresa talking about the ability they shared. Empathy. Feeling other people's emotions. He grinned as he had the idea to drain the power off Paul and then use it to feel Mary's arousal as he touched her. Hm, that would be fun. Jordan wanted to find this kid as soon as possible.

        He went to the biggest room directly above the living room. If any room was most likely to be the one from which the noise came, it was this one. Jordan stood as still as he could and listened. Quick, frightened breathing came from under the bed. Jordan smiled to himself. He quickly crossed the room, got down on his hands and knees, and plunged his hand under the bed.

        Paul gasped and whimpered before scrambling out; he made a break for the door. Being much taller, Jordan easily beat him to the door and snatched Paul up by his arm. The boy began to scream and kick wildly. "Mommy! Mommy! Leggo! Mommy!"

        When the kid started stomping on his feet, Jordan lifted him off the floor and held him up by the chest, restraining Paul's arms at his sides. Paul wiggled and struggled, crying in big breathy sobs. But he couldn't get free.

        Jordan concentrated on leeching off Paul's abilities. His eyes went wide. He had no idea what some of the energies were that he found inside that child. The things Jordan couldn't identify, he left alone; instead, he drained out a helping of empathy and took a look at the other things Paul could do. "What the heck is going on inside you, kid? Your mom said you could just _talk_ to the dead, that you were a medium, but... you're something much more sinister." He snickered. "Holy crap... are you in this too?"

        The fact that Jordan borrowed two abilities from him temporarily drained Paul of his energy. The boy fell bonelessly to the floor and lay there crying pitifully.

        "Thanks, kid. This'll come in handy." He started out, but turned back for a parting comment. "Take a nap. You'll feel better." With that, Jordan left the room.

*****

        Mary heard the ruckus upstairs through the ceiling. She prayed Jordan wasn't hurting the poor little boy. While he was gone, she'd work on getting free and try to figure out how the rest of them were going to get out of here safely.

        During her short time outside, Mary had noticed that there had been people here at some point in the last ten years; one of the houses had been knocked down and the dirt tilled in preparation for something new to be built there. But the modern construction equipment had just been abandoned mid-project. Maybe someone decided to try to make something of this town, and had run into... opposition. The kind of opposition only the Yellow-Eyed Man could provide. The equipment was dirty, with weeds and tall grass grown up around the wheels, but it still couldn't have been that long since it was in use, Mary surmised. Age had been sun-baked into the paint, but not enough for her to think that they couldn't make use of the equipment to get out of this place.

        In the field next to the cemetery, she'd seen a tractor with a rototiller, a crane, a bulldozer, a drilling machine... any one of those could be driven away. The bulldozer would probably come in the most handy to knock down trees, just plow right through the forest that was trapping them here. Oh, why hadn't Mary thought of this before! John said he was a _technopath_. He could control any one of the machines. If only she'd considered that earlier, she wouldn't be stuck in this mess now.

        No use chastising herself over things she couldn't control. None of them could have foreseen that Jordan would turn out to be evil. It was unbelievable to think that anyone would actually want to _win_ the Yellow-Eyed Man's sick competition. This whole thing was unbelievable.

        But it was really happening. So Mary struggled to get free and kept praying that someone would find her before Jordan came back.

*****

        Theresa suddenly sat up in bed, startled awake by vague feelings of fear. She looked around. The rest of the bed was empty. "Paul? Mary?" It was then that all of Paul's fear hit her, even though they weren't even in the same house. "Paul! PAUL!"

        John snorted loudly and came awake. "What's goin' on?"

        "Paul's afraid!" Theresa cried. She jumped out of bed and started to put on her shoes. "He's terrified!"

        "Where is he?" John looked around the room. His voice was already laced with alarm, but once he realized that Mary was gone too, he really sounded worried. "Where'd Mary go?"

        Her face stricken with panic, Theresa looked back at John and said, "Something's really wrong."

        By the time she woke from her dream conversation with the Yellow-Eyed Man, Natraya was convinced that she was talking to an evil spirit. Some kind of demon. The yellow eyes should have been a dead giveaway...

        She gasped awake and found herself looking into the face of the lesser demon who had been talking to the Yellow-Eyed Man when she came upon him in her dream. Natraya squealed, throwing her hands out in front of her. "Haa!" The demon swiped at Natraya with her long fingernails just as she was blown upward by a blast of energy so strong that her body left a dent in the ceiling when it hit. The fingernails came within inches of Natraya's face; they would have skewered her eyes if this blast hadn't saved her. The demon fell hard to the floor.

        John and Theresa both jumped and cringed at the noise. "What the hell was that?!" John exclaimed.

        Natraya rolled off the opposite side of the bed. "Taet!" she cried.

        The demon sighed as she got up, rubbing her side. "Concussive blasts. Very funny, Great One. You could have told me." All of the lesser demon's nails came out with a metallic _ching!_ "Then again, I should have known you'd have some way to defend yourself." She approached Natraya with an evil grin.

        John and Theresa reached the open door of Natraya's room just in time to see the Thai girl throw her arms out in front of her, palms facing the demon. The air shimmered before her, waves of almost invisible energy moving rapidly toward the lesser demon and finally slamming into the creature with massive force. The demon made another dent in the wall behind her, not that far from where John and Theresa stood.

        Theresa screamed and recoiled against the door, while John yelped, "Holy shit!"

        The demon, again, recovered enough to approach Natraya once more. She swiped at the open air with her claws. "I'm an idiot. Why am I staying here? You're just going to blow me into the wall again." She laughed sheepishly. They circled each other. "I'm going to _hurt_ the Great One for this. Rip each of his little hairs out by the root. Then I'll - "

        Using just one hand this time, Natraya gestured toward the lesser demon, smiling with satisfaction. The creature went screaming out the window behind her.

        Theresa winced and shielded her face instinctively at the shattering glass. John, again, exclaimed, "Holy shit..."

        Turning to them, Natraya said, "Taet. Asoon," as if they could understand her explanation.

        "What _was_ that?!" Theresa cried, not realizing that Natraya has just answered her question.

        "It looked like some kind of monster," commented John.

        Theresa covered her eyes with her hands. "This just gets weirder and weirder." She uncovered her face and went to Natraya's side. "Natraya, have you seen Paul?" Then she repeated his name to make sure the girl understood. "Paul?"

        "Paul?" Natraya said slowly. The little one. She shook her head. "No," and she put her hands together under her head, palms flat, to indicate that she'd been sleeping before that thing attacked her.

        "Oh..." Theresa looked very worried.

        "Well... I guess we know what Natraya can do now," said John.

        Half a minute later, they were entering Beth and Jordan's room. "Jordan? Beth? We're sorry to barge in, but Paul's gone miss..." Theresa realized there was no one in the messy bed when she flipped on the light. "Oh God, they're gone too."

        "I'll check the bathroom," John said, heading for the attached bath.

        Theresa walked over to the other side of the room, intending to peer out the window to see if she could spot any of their missing people, when she caught sight of something on the floor.

        John heard her scream and came running out of the bathroom. "What is it?"

        Beth was lying dead on the floor. Her clouded eyes gazed up at the ceiling like a doll. Clearly, someone had strangled her; her neck was ringed with purple and red bruises. The person who had killed her had also ripped her shirt open to expose her breasts. No one knew exactly why, although they could have guessed all sorts of sick, depraved reasons.

        Theresa began to weep. "Where's my baby, where's my baby, oh God in Heaven..."

        John, putting an arm around her, tried to reassure Theresa that her son was all right. "If he was dead, you wouldn't be able to feel him anymore, right?"

        She nodded against his chest.

        Natraya peered over the bed and looked at Beth, horrified. "Jor-dan," she said slowly, angrily.

        "Yeah," agreed John. "He's the only one who could have done this."

        "He's working for the Yellow-Eyed Man," sobbed Theresa. "Can we please find my son? _Please?_ "

        "Gladly. And Mary too." John swallowed down a lump that suddenly came up in his throat. "Let's just find some weapons first."

        There wasn't much in the way of weapons to be had, but John managed to find a fireplace poker for Theresa and a board with nails sticking out of it for himself. He took one look at Natraya and chuckled. "You? You don't need a weapon. You've got one in here." John tapped his head.

        Raising an eyebrow, Natraya just looked back at him.

        He took one of her hands and raised it out in front of her, flicked it up so the palm faced out, and said, "Jordan?" Then he punched his fist into his other hand.

        Natraya understood. If she saw Jordan, she should use her concussion blasts on him. She gave John a curt nod. "Mm."

        "Good girl." He turned to Theresa. "Can you use your empathy against him?"

        Shrugging, she replied, "I've never tried."

        "Well, if you see him, try. Give him a helping of shame over what he's done, or something."

        That brought on a sudden thought. "Didn't Jordan say he was a Mimic, though? What if we'd only be helping him by just handing over our powers?"

        "Huh." Disappointed, John admitted, "You may be right. Okay, you don't use your empathy on him. But Natraya, I still say she should let him have it. She could kill our friend Jordy before he even has a chance to powersuck 'er."

        "Makes sense." As they started out the front door, Theresa blinked and said, "Are we really going out there to kill someone?"

        John looked at her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't the kind of thing you're used to. I've been at war, so... I know a little something about it. But yeah, we may have to kill the guy."

        With a deep sigh, Theresa stepped out the door.

        She used the empathic connection she had with Paul as a homing device. They walked into the house across the street and listened carefully for any sound. Theresa's eyes were closed as she turned slowly to face the hall closet. "Someone's in there," she announced quietly. "I think it's Mary."

        Overjoyed, John threw the door open. Mary jumped, startled, at first, but then started to bounce up and down when she saw who it was. "Mary! God, did that bastard tie you up?" John began to untie her.

        Still feeling out for Paul, Theresa left John to take care of Mary and bounded up the stairs. "Paul, Paul... I can feel you... where are you?"

        Natraya wasn't sure what to do, stay with John or follow Mary. Danger, all around them.

        Theresa found her son asleep on the floor of one of the bedrooms, his thumb in his mouth. "Paulie!" She gently scooped him into her arms and carried him like he was a baby.

        Slowly, he started to come awake. "Mommy?"

        "Yes, honey, I've got you. Are you okay? Did Jordan hurt you?"

        "I dunno. He made me real tired."

        Theresa wondered what that meant. Did Jordan mimic something that Paul could do? What use would he have for...

        "Mommy?"

        "Uh huh?" Theresa started out of the room, but stopped. She felt something very weird creeping into the center of the place from where her empathy originated.

        "Do you feel that?" the child asked.

        Yes, she did feel it. Emotions coming off a bunch of new people. At least twenty of them. But these emotions didn't feel the least bit normal. They were... flat. Monotone. Devoid of self-will.

        Dead.

        She'd never felt anything like it before.

        When Theresa rejoined the others, John had just finished untying Mary. She was babbling about Jordan being evil and John was trying to comfort her, shush her, saying, "We know, Mary, we know," but although Theresa was conscious of all that, she was more focused on those awful, creepy emotions coming from outside. _This must be what it feels like to have maggots crawling around in your brain,_ she thought. Theresa clutched Paul closer to her, peering out the front windows from the bottom of the stairs.

        "Mary, it's alright." John hugged her. "We'll get out of here now and just leave Jordan behind. What's important is that - "

        "WINCHESTEEEEER!!"

        John heard his name called from outside the open front door. He recognized Jordan's voice.

        "Get your filthy hands off my prize!"

        From his right, John heard Theresa begin to pray. "Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus..." Her voice raised higher and higher in hysteria.

        Looking out the line of big front windows, John saw what was causing Theresa so much distress. Jordan stood in the front yard, surrounded by at least twenty people who could be described as nothing but long dead. They were in various states of decay, some missing arms, all stinking of death.

        All under Jordan's control.

        Mary gasped. "He got them from the cemetery..." she choked.

        Hiding Paul's face against her chest, Theresa babbled, "Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death amen... they feel only blind devotion to Jordan and they care for nothing but _obey, obey, obey_!"

        "Theresa, get a hold of yourself!" John commanded. He licked his lips, trying to think fast.

        "They're going to _kill_ us!" she screeched.

        Mary, grabbing John's arm, said, "We can find a back door out of this house and escape to the construction equipment. Did you see it, in that field next to the cemetery? You can control it, can't you? You said you were a technopath."

        After a moment of thought, John suddenly grabbed Mary's face and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. "You're a genius, Mary."

        She blushed, her cheeks turning hot and red.

        The army of zombies started toward the house. Jordan called, "Hey Theresa, aren't you curious to know how I did this? I drained some powers out of your boy. You admitted he was a medium, but you weren't telling us the whole truth, were you? Paul's not just a medium.

        "Your boy's a _necromancer_."


	3. Talons

**Chapters:** 3 of 3 plus Epilogue  
 **Fandom:** _Supernatural/Miracles_ cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.  
 **Universe:** Plastic Dashboard Jesus  
 **Word Count:** 23,877  
 **Rating:** Rated Adult for violence, language, brief non-con, and gore  
 **Summary:** Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The Yellow-Eyed Demon did.  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:  
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?  
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?  
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.

Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.

Other notes can be found at the end of the story.

 **  
**Chapter 3: Talons**   
**

  
        Everyone looked at Theresa and Paul. She held her son close and looked at them once before averting her eyes, praying quietly to herself.

        She knew. She knew all along.

        John began, "Ignore him. Let's find a back door - "

        Natraya stepped before all of them. The expression on her face was supremely offended. Jordan had violated all the natural laws of man and God, no matter what God one prayed to. She put her arms out before her. "Stop!" the girl cried in accented English.

        They all cringed as the front of the house blew outward. Jordan and his dead army were blown several feet backward and showered with splintered wood and glass from the facade of the house. Paul screamed in terror and confusion at the mighty noise.

        "Good gravy, did you know she could do that?!" Mary questioned.

        John nodded. "I encouraged her to do it."

        Smiling proudly, Natraya turned to look at John for approval. Somewhere between him shaking her and the realization that Jordan was evil, Natraya had decided to trust John again. He mused that she probably didn't get to use these abilities much. This might even be fun for her. John gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Natraya seemed to understand, and beamed with pride.

        He shrugged and remarked to the others, "Uh... fine. We'll go out the front door."

        Chuckling darkly, Jordan fought his way to his feet; he was limping and bleeding from the head. "In any language, that means back off, motherfucker. I guess we know what Natraya can do now, huh Winchester?"

        "No shit." John stepped into the wide opening that was once the front of the house. "You'll get more of the same unless you give this up, Jordy," he said with contempt.

        Jordan's face scrunched into a mask of blind anger. "Don't call me that!" he yelled. "Only my mother was allowed to call me that!"

        Raising an eyebrow, John responded with, "Got some mommy issues, do we? No wonder you like to choke women to death."

        A sinister smile crawled across Jordan's face. "Oh, you mean Beth?"

        The woman they were speaking of now came shuffling toward them, joining the rest of the zombie army. Her face was blank, her mind thinking only of obedience. Beth's shirt still hung loose and open in the front, but with her standing up, the pieces covered her chest.

        Upon seeing her, Mary cried, "You sick bastard! How could you murder her?"

        "I told you, Mary, I'm in this to win." Jordan looked around at his dead soldiers. "Arise, and do my bidding. Kill all of them by any means necessary, except for the blonde. Capture her and bring her to me!" Jordan pointed at the others.

        The dead people shambled toward the house again. "Yes, master," several of them said.

        Mary angrily yelled, "Even Paul? He's just a little boy!"

        "You now know what kind of powers he has. He's just as much a contender in this contest as anyone," Jordan explained.

        "You and your stupid contest!" she screamed back.

        The dead people came from all sides, approaching the porch. Natraya stepped forward again. "Stop!"

        Once more, Jordan's army was blown back. Jordan tried to shield himself with a large piece of wood, but he still left a deep groove in the ground as the blast pushed him away at least twenty feet. Still, he was moving, trying to get up, as were the army of the dead. The others tried not to look at them too much, as the concussion blasts were causing them to lose pieces of their rotted bodies each time Natraya struck them.

        "That hurt," Jordan admitted. "But it's also very helpful, Natraya. I understand more and more how your power works each time you hit me." He didn't seem to be injured as much as he should be.

        Always the strategist, John realized this wasn't quite working out the way he'd hoped. Jordan had already taken two of those massive blasts and he was still conscious, still standing, still attacking. Something wasn't quite right about that. If Natraya kept hitting him, he'd eventually be able to mimic her power without even touching her. "Mary, Theresa, you two have got to get out of here. Head for the bulldozer."

        "How are we supposed to do that?!" Theresa cried. She gestured at the mob of zombies blocking the way.

        One of them stepped up onto the porch; the dead woman had been so quiet and stealthy that Theresa hadn't seen her. She screamed as the zombie reached for her, aggressively going for her neck.

        "Go away!" Paul cried in fear.

        The dead lady immediately obeyed, turning and walking the other way.

        John instantly understood. Even if he was just a child, Paul _was_ a necromancer, just like Jordan had said. The zombies would obey him too. "Paul, keep telling them to get away from you and your mom, and Mary too, okay? They'll do as you say."

        Theresa fidgeted uneasily. "He shouldn't use those abilities," she whispered harshly to John.

        "Good lord, woman, this is hardly the time for a morality lesson! We've got a whole front yard full of zombies to plow through! If he can get us out of here, you have to encourage him to do it!"

        Although she knew it was her right to ignore John and tell her son not to do it, at the same time, she also knew John had a point. How could Theresa turn her back on the others and just allow them to be killed? Paul might not make it out of here alive either if she didn't let him use those powers.

        Turning toward the field full of construction equipment, John tried to communicate with the bulldozer first. _"Hey Bulldozer, would you like to be a hero?"_

        An answer, rumbling but weak, came back after a few silent seconds. _"Out of gas. How is it that you can speak to me?"_

 _"Some humans have that ability. You don't want to just sit in a field for the rest of your days until you are turned to scrap metal, do you? I know machines can run without fuel if it is their will to do so. Please help me save these innocent people."_ He indicated Mary, Paul, and Theresa. _"Come here."_

 _"What about the rotting people?"_ the bulldozer asked.

         _"Run them over. They're scrap. Use your scooper thing."_

 _"It's called a blade."_ John felt the bulldozer mentally nod. _"I will help."_

        With a heavy, rattling rumble, the bulldozer roared to life. It began to make its way to the house.

        Paul kept the dead at bay. "Go away!" he told them when they got too close to the porch.

        Theresa did not stop him.

        Amused, Jordan watched the bulldozer as it ran into a cluster of his army and pushed them, flailing and groaning, along the ground with its blade. "Very clever, Winchester." Jordan closed his eyes and did some concentrating of his own.

        John wished that bulldozers were faster. He didn't like the looks of what Jordan was up to. "As soon as that bulldozer gets here, you pile into it," John said to Mary. "Natraya will blast them one more time and then we'll get out of here. Just run over Jordan if he tries to stop you."

        Jordan could hear him; he grinned maniacally. "Who's going to blast who?" He threw his hands out in front of him. "Back off, bitch."

        Natraya, caught by surprise, was suddenly blown back into the house like a giant, invisible hand had swatted her. This was followed by a great crash as more of the house was destroyed.

        "Natraya!" Mary screamed.

        "Stay out of the house! It could all come down on you," instructed John before going in himself, saying over his shoulder, "I'll get her!"

        Jordan laughed and laughed.

        While John was moving splintered wood and overturned furniture aside in order to rescue Natraya, the bulldozer arrived. Theresa and Paul climbed into the small cab, but Mary hovered outside the door, worried for John and Natraya.

        Several dead people closed in on the bulldozer. Theresa let Paul hang his head out the window to command them to turn the other way. "Mary, get in! I'm going to run some of them over!"

        She shook her head. "I have to know that John is okay. I can't leave here."

        "We're not leaving, we're just going to get rid of some of them."

        Shaking her head again, Mary repeated, "I can't leave here!"

        John dug through a pile of wood until he saw Natraya's legs sticking out from under half of the broken dining room table. She was bleeding from several places, semi-conscious. "I think it's time we retreat," he remarked, and slipped one arm under her knees, the other under her back. "Upsie-daisy," John said, and hauled her up out of the wreckage.

        By the time they got to the front of the house, Natraya was fighting to get down, glaring at Jordan.

        "I don't think that's a good idea. You're hurt."

        Mary was overjoyed to see them. "Hurry, get in the cab!"

        Natraya fought so hard that John had to put her down. Before her feet were even planted firmly on the ground, she sent a concussion blast at Jordan. The force caused John to stumble and almost fall himself.

        Just grinning, Jordan launched his own blast back at her.

        The waves of energy crashed into each other, meeting in the middle. Shockwaves ricocheted back at both Natraya and Jordan. Everyone was knocked off his or her feet, even Mary. The bulldozer reared up, making Theresa and Paul scream, but did not turn over.

        John and Natraya both crashed into one of the pillars that supported the porch roof. It cracked in half. Above their heads, the roof creaked dangerously. It had already been damaged by the repeated blasts, and now it was ready to collapse.

        "Get off the porch," John said before he had even stood up.

        Mary was the least hurt; she helped John stand, and he simply slipped an arm around Natraya's ribcage and dragged her off the porch with him. The roof collapsed a second later in a deafening series of crashes.

        Jordan acted disappointed. "Damn. That would have made things so much simpler for me."

        Although barely able to stand on her own, Natraya got to her shaky feet and pushed John away gently. "Go," she said.

        John, shocked at what he thought she was saying, replied, "We're not just leaving you here."

        "Go!"

        Mary opened the door to the bulldozer's cab. "Just grab her and let's get out of here!"

        Before anyone else could protest, Natraya turned and blasted Jordan again. She moved as quickly as she could toward him, away from the others.

        John made sure that Mary got into the bulldozer safely. "Don't get the bulldozer too close to Jordan. Go around him. I'll meet you on the other side." With that, he ran off to try to make sure that Natraya got out safely, too.

        "John!" Mary yelled.

        Theresa yanked her into the cab. "Close the door! Zombies are coming!"

        Turning to her, Mary insisted, "We can't leave them!"

        "We're not going to. We're going to help." She looked to her left to see the crane lumbering toward where John was standing. Theresa sat Paul on her lap so Mary could sit down. Then she started to deliberately drive the bulldozer into the crowd of zombies.

        Some of the dead people saw her coming and climbed up on the blade. Pointing to a stick lever, Theresa said, "Move that up and down. Shake 'em off if you can."

        Mary did as she asked. The blade moved up and down, not very quickly, but quick enough to throw the zombies off balance. Several fell off and rolled under the track wheels of the bulldozer.

        Theresa kept ramming into them, keeping the army busy so John could do what he had planned. She cringed at the groaning and the way the bulldozer shook as it drove over them. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." _Crunch._ "...ooh, God forgive me for that one."

        They continued to deal with the zombies while John called the crane to him. Its voice was higher-pitched in his head. _"What would you like me to do?"_ the crane asked.

        John pointed at Jordan. _"Keep him busy."_

 _"I can do that!"_ the crane said back with enthusiasm. John surmised that the crane must've been bored, having nothing to do for so many years. It headed toward Jordan, who was recovering from Natraya's latest attack.

        "Caught me off guard," he said, wiping blood from his lips. He saw the crane coming.

        A few seconds before Jordan reacted, John called to the crane, _"Hold on to something!"_

        "I'm going to blast your stupid crane, John," Jordan declared before he aimed a concussion blast at the huge machine.

        The crane heard John's warning, and slammed its open clamshell blade deep into the ground. When the blast hit it, it just shook mightily, but did not tip over.

        Natraya knew how her ability worked. Once she sent a blast, there was a short waiting time, a time where she was unable to send another one, when she was open and vulnerable. Jordan had wasted his latest chance on the crane. Natraya grinned. She carefully sounded out, "Back off, bitch."

        They knew that the blast hurt from how loud Jordan screamed in pain. When the dust cleared, he lay motionless in the middle of a crater thirty feet from where he'd been standing before.

        John ran up to Natraya and put up his hand. "You did it, Natraya! Gimme five!"

        She just stared at his hand curiously.

        "Put your hand up like this," he instructed.

        Natraya imitated the position of John's hand. He slapped her palm with his own. "That's five."

        Her eyes beginning to lose their focus, Natraya said, "Five..."

        "Yeah. Gimme five, on the side." He twisted his arm behind his back and poked his hand around his side.

        Cocking her head, Natraya smacked his palm again.

        "In the hole." John made an "O" with his thumb and index finger, then showed her that she should stick her finger in it.

        She did. John closed his fingers, catching her. "You too slow," he chuckled.

        Natraya had no idea what he'd said, but his humorous tone made her laugh. Then she collapsed against him.

        "Whoa, whoa, honey, it's okay. I've got you." John held her up; her dark eyes opened and closed as she tried to hold on to consciousness.

        He was leaning Natraya back over his arm so he could pick her up when he heard Mary's voice from across the clearing, raw with fear. "John, watch out!"

        John froze in his efforts and turned his head slightly to see Jordan getting up. The guy was hiding something; there was an ability he wasn't telling them about. How else could he be standing and Natraya be so badly injured?

        Having nowhere to go, John took the blast full force. He could hear Mary screaming as he and Natraya flew into the side of a house. Then they were going _through_ the wall and he blacked out.

        Hanging out the cab's window, Mary began to cry. "John! Natraya!" She instantly opened the door and started to run toward the house.

        "Mary!" Theresa called. She drove the bulldozer after her, seeing the dead people closing in on Mary.

        "Get her!" Jordan commanded. His army stopped Mary in her tracks, grabbing her arms and holding her around the ribcage as she fought against them, screaming John's name.

        Theresa couldn't run over the zombies with Mary in the middle of them. She tried to decide what to do as Jordan headed toward the house into which he'd blown John and Natraya. The only thing that made sense would be to take Paul out there and have him command the zombies to retreat. But could she put her own son in danger and use him to save someone she hardly knew?

        Slowly waking up, John looked around; his vision was blurry at first. It cleared after a few seconds, at least in one eye. The other was full of the blood that had run into it from his lacerated forehead. John looked up and to his left and gasped.

        Natraya had been impaled on a long, thin plank of wood. Part of the wall through which they had crashed. It stuck out from just under her breasts, splintered and jagged and covered with her blood, and she grasped at it weakly, making gagging noises. The piece of wood had been driven into the wall behind her so she was held up like a demented marionette puppet.

        John would never forget the sound of her blood dripping on the floor, the pained noises she made as she fought to breathe because her lungs were filling with blood, Mary's screaming coming from outside... he'd never forget it. It could have just as easily been him pinned to the wall. Natraya was dying and there was nothing he could do to save her. She'd endangered her own life selflessly in an attempt to save them all, and death was her reward.

        Natraya caught sight of him. "John," she choked.

        He tried to get up, but couldn't. His leg was broken. "I'm sorry, Natraya. But you can go home now." John swept his arms above his head in an arc. "Thailand," he said.

        She nodded a little. "Home."

        John nodded back. Angry tears pricked at his eyes. No one had given their life in defense of him, not since 'Nam.

        Natraya's eyes filled with tears too, and she looked at the sky through the jagged opening in the wall. "Tam," she said with a little sob.

        John had no idea what that meant.

        She held out a hand to him and tried to smile. "Give me... five," Natraya said before the blood coming from her mouth choked her into silence.

        John just grabbed her hand and held on. "You did good," he nearly whispered.

        He didn't let go as she gagged and sputtered and blood poured from her mouth, and finally, Natraya's head bowed on her neck and she was still.

        Jordan entered just as her eyelids fluttered shut for the last time. He saw the tears in John's eyes and mocked them. "Awww. How sweet. I thought you liked Mary."

        "Shut up you pathetic little worm. You're killing people to gain the favor of some phantom. Natraya never did anything to hurt you, but you killed her anyway. At least she gets to die a hero," hissed John.

        Walking up next to him, Jordan examined his battered body for a few moments, then kicked him in his broken leg. John screamed in pain. "That's a big threat coming from a guy with a broken leg. How are you going to make me die without being a hero if you can't even get up, John?"

        "I've still got a few surprises," John replied through gritted teeth.

        "Oh, you mean the technopathy? Big deal. I just need a couple minutes to get inside your head and mimic it, then I control the construction equipment." Jordan grinned evilly. "I'm going to enjoy fucking her, John. I might even do it next to your dead body."

        "You know what, Jordy?"

        Jordan's features rippled, but he didn't react more than that. "What?"

        " _I'm_ going to enjoy cutting you in half."

        The crane arm crashed through the already damaged wall. The clamshell blade was wide open, like an open, hungry mouth, reaching for Jordan. He turned toward it with his hands out, as if he could catch the blade in his hands and stop it like Superman. But Jordan was not Superman.

        At least not in that way.

        The blade slammed into him with enough force to drive him into the wall behind him. The wall splintered and cracked, giving way to the metal scoop, as did Jordan's body. John could plainly see that the blade had cut into the murdering bastard, deep through his chest and legs; blood ran over the blade and to the floor.

        Jordan died the same way Natraya had. Choking on his own blood.

        At least, John hoped he was finally dead as Jordan flopped lifelessly over the blade.

        Mary's voice came from outside the house. "John, are you okay?! I can't get around the crane!"

        The crane arm withdrew. Jordan fell limply to the floor.

         _"Was that good, John? We don't ever kill people on purpose, but this is what you wanted,"_ the crane said to him. _"He was a bad man."_

 _"Yeah, that was great,"_ John told the crane. _"Thank you for your help."_

        Mary ran in with Theresa and Paul behind her. Theresa screamed at the scene, hiding Paul's face in her chest. "Oh God... so much blood." She crossed herself.

        Trying not to look, Mary went to John's side. "You're really hurt," she said, rubbing his arm.

        "Yeah, but I'll survive."

        Mary looked up and swallowed down a lump in her throat. "Natraya..."

        John, wincing, replied only, "Yeah." He took a little time to wipe his eyes and get control of his emotions before asking, "Are you okay?"

        Mary, nodding her head, replied, "Much better, now that I know you're alright. I couldn't get to you because of the zombies."

        "How'd you get away from them?"

        Glancing at Theresa, she said, "Theresa brought Paul down off the bulldozer and he told them to let me go. They left us alone after that."

        John smiled at Theresa warmly. Because of the things she'd said, he knew it must've been hard for her to allow Paul to use those abilities for any reason. If she thought it was forbidden for him to talk to the dead, commanding and controlling them must seem far worse. "Thanks for looking out for us. It won't be forgotten."

        Theresa felt that he meant it. She returned a small smile to him, humble and a little embarrassed. After taking a look at his leg herself, Theresa said, "We can make a splint with some of this wood. I've got some scarves in my purse; we can tie it on with those."

        John had to laugh. "Is there anything you don't have in that purse?"

        Laughing too, Mary added, "It takes up half the cab."

        Theresa instructed Paul to sit on the floor and keep his back turned to them while they put John's leg in a splint. The room was full of so much that could scar a child forever - Theresa hoped she could shield him from any further horrific sights. Once they had three pieces of wood tied firmly to John's leg, Mary and Theresa looked at each other and sighed. They knew the hardest part was still ahead of them.

        "I think if we both carry you, we can get you to the bulldozer without hurting you," Mary said, and then added sheepishly, "...too much."

        With an arm around Mary's shoulders and the other arm around Theresa's, John was carefully lifted to his feet. The movement made him wince, but it didn't hurt as much as it could have. The trip out of the house and to the bulldozer was a slow and occasionally painful one. John held his leg up, trying not to jostle it, and used the women as crutches so he could walk with just one leg. Paul followed beside his mother.

        John didn't think that he could ever feel as glad just to reach the place that he'd been going as when he took a seat on the side of the bulldozer. Getting him into the cab proved to be the hardest part; they had trouble doing it without bumping his broken leg against anything that stuck out. Unfortunately for John, the cab of a bulldozer was a sea of things that stuck out.

        He finally leaned back, panting, his broken leg splinted straight so that it had to poke between the two front seats.

        "You okay?" asked Theresa.

        Still panting from the effort, John gave her a thumbs-up.

        Theresa started to climb into the cab. John shook his head. "What?" she said.

        "Natraya," John began. "We can't just leave her here. We have to take her body back with us so the authorities can send her home."

        "And Beth..." Mary added.

        Throwing up her hands in a full body shrug, Theresa cried, "How are we going to explain any of this to the police?!"

        No one had an answer.

        "We'll figure that out later. Let's just get them for now. I'd do it myself, but it should be obvious why I can't..." John trailed off.

        They could tell that the events of the night were causing Theresa to break down. "My son, he's seen too much already... I just want to take him home." Her hand shook as she pushed some of her hair off her forehead.

        "We all want to go home. But Natraya gave her life defending us. We're going to reward her by leaving her here?" John said in a harsh tone.

        Mary scolded, "John..." Then she turned to Theresa, stroking her arm. "I know the night has been tough. But let's just do this one last thing, okay?"

        On the verge of tears, Theresa responded, "I don't know if I can touch a dead person..."

        "It's an unpleasant thought, yeah... but we can get a blanket from the house and wrap her in it. You don't have to touch her."

        Paul took his mother's hand. "Natraya was a nice person, Mommy. She'd be lonely and sad if we left her here."

        Letting out a deep sigh, Theresa tried to smile and squeezed Paul's hand. "Okay, honey. We'll take her with us."

        Paul looked over at a spot near the bulldozer that seemed empty to everyone else and smiled.

        "Be careful," John warned. Paul stayed with him in the cab as Theresa and Mary headed back to the damaged house. John wished his leg wasn't broken so he could go with them. To pass the time, he talked to Paul. "How ya doin', kid?"

        Paul's eyelids drooped and opened, drooped and opened. "I'm sleepy," he said.

        John frowned a little; it was too late for a kid to be up anyway. "Why don't you lay down and go to sleep while we're waiting for your mom?"

        With a nod, Paul curled up on his side in the seat and closed his eyes.

        When she entered the house, Mary immediately looked at Natraya's body, suspended against the wall. She didn't know at first why Theresa gasped.

        John warily watched the house. He wished the girls would hurry up. The town was so quiet that it startled him when Beth stood up and started to amble toward the house. John, eyes wide, checked the boy. Paul was nearly asleep.

        "Crap," he mumbled to himself.

        Mary looked to the right and saw that Jordan was gone. "Where'd he go?! He was just there a minute ago!"

        "Let's get out of here," Theresa said, her voice shaking.

        John's voice, cutting through the air between the bulldozer and the house, scared them both. "Mary! Theresa! Run! Jordan's alive!"

        They turned to see Jordan standing in the opening in the wall made by the crane. "Surprise..."

        Frantic, John called to all of the construction equipment. _"Come to me! I need your help! Two innocent women are going to die if you don't help them!"_

        Mary and Theresa reached for each other, taking each other's hands. "How did you do that, Jordan?" Mary asked. "You were cut nearly in half."

        He grinned at them in smug triumph. "Just like you, Mary, I hid an ability from the others." Unbuttoning his shirt, Jordan showed them his chest. It was still healing back together along a bloody, jagged line. The women both covered their mouths and gasped. "I can heal myself quickly, even mortal injuries. I've got some powers of regeneration too. You could say that I'm invincible."

        Mary and Theresa backed up so far that Mary bumped into Natraya's body. The Thai woman wasn't even cold yet. They had to find a way to get around Jordan and out of the house.

        John's yelling roused Paul; the boy had hardly even had time to fall asleep. "What's the matter? Is my mommy okay?"

        "Everything's just fine, Paul. Go back to sleep." John didn't want to put the child in danger when he couldn't protect him.

        Paul looked at the house. "Mommy's scared!"

        With a growl, Jordan ran at Mary, grabbing for her throat. Theresa screamed. "What makes you so special?!" Jordan yelled. "Why does he like you best?!"

        Mary clawed at his face and pounded at his shoulders with her fists. "Let me go!"

        Jordan managed to close his hands around her throat, cutting off Mary's air. "I'll figure it out! If I have to try all night, I'll figure out why he likes you best!"

        Theresa struck him across the back with a board studded with nails. Jordan tried to ignore it, but she hit him again with a frustrated scream. He released Mary, who stood bent over against the wall, coughing, trying to recover, and turned to Theresa. The smug and evil look on his face shook her confidence for a moment, but she still managed to swing at Jordan again. He caught hold of the board and shoved it back into her stomach. Theresa doubled over, gasping for air.

        By the time Jordan turned back around, Mary had gotten a weapon of her own. She threw her hands out in front of her and rasped, "Stop!"

        Jordan was pushed back several feet by Natraya's concussion blast. Because Natraya was dead, the power Mary had pulled off of her was very weak. He smirked at Mary, mocking her. "You did say you were a Mimic too, didn't you?"

        "I am. Apparently, I can pull stuff off people who are dead as well."

        "Nifty trick. But I'm sure if she'd been dead any longer, you wouldn't have been able to do it."

        "What's the matter, Jordan? Afraid I'm a better Mimic than you?" Mary teased. "Maybe that's why the Yellow-Eyed Man likes me better. Or should I say, why he likes me best."

        Growling, Jordan charged forward and threw his arms out. Nothing happened. "Damn it, I've lost the power!"

        Theresa, finally recovering enough to move, ran into the kitchen to find a shorter, heavier, deadlier weapon. Some copper pipes stood in a group against one wall, in the corner. She grabbed one and turned around just in time to see Beth come from a side door, raise her arm, and bring it down on her neck. Beth had been aiming for the back of her head, but Theresa turned too fast. She heard John yelling something; her son's name was said. Then Paul was running into the house through the same door.

        Theresa went down on one knee. She opened her mouth to instruct Paul to go back to the bulldozer, but he spoke instead. "Beth, stop!"

        She instantly obeyed.

        "Just start walking. Don't come back, not even if Jordan tells you to," he told her.

        "Yes, master," Beth said, and walked out of the house.

        Theresa shuddered hard. _Yes, master._ That was her _son_ that zombie had been talking to, that abomination. It obeyed him, a four-year-old boy. She had to make sure Paul never used these powers again. They were a sin. No matter how she felt about it, Theresa did not refuse to hug Paul when he came to her, just her little boy again.

        "Mommy! Are you okay?"

        "I'll be fine, Paul. Go back to the bulldozer with John. Mary and I will be out in a minute."

        "You promise?"

        Theresa held up the three-foot-long pipe. "I promise."

        Meanwhile, Jordan tried to win Mary over by telling her what he knew about her. "The Yellow-Eyed Man and I have talked about you. We've talked about you a lot. I know you can manipulate memories."

        Mary winced only slightly, but enough for him to notice.

        "I know what you did to your uncle."

        Her lips curled back off her teeth. "Shut up."

        "He shouldn't have done that to you, Mary. He should have been someone you could trust. You were just a child. A sick bastard like that who ruins the childhood of a beautiful girl like you for his own sexual pleasure deserves anything bad you'd ever want to do to him. You reduced him to a simpering little baby, Mary. Just wiped his mind clean," Jordan said, recounting what the Yellow-Eyed Man had told him.

        Mary didn't want to hear about it, talk about it, remember it. They were the only memories she'd ever tried to erase that had completely resisted her efforts. Those memories just sat there, festering, rotting inside her. "I told you to shut up!" Mary yelled angrily, on the verge of tears.

        Jordan continued. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Mary. I know what that anger feels like. What you did... it was a beautiful thing."

        Theresa came quietly into the room. She held the pipe ready and signaled to Mary; Mary realized what she wanted her to do. "Jordan, I rooted around in your memories when you touched me. What your mother did to you wasn't right, but you had no right to kill all those people. You and I... we're not alike."

        "Yes we are," he insisted.

        "No. I'll never be like that." Mary checked to make sure she still had Natraya's power coursing through her. "I'll never bow at the heels of a master I can't even trust like a pathetic, slobbering dog just to win some contest I never volunteered to join. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm getting out of here. John is waiting for me."

        Angry and hurt, Jordan said, "I'm better than him."

        "Wow, you just can't make up your mind, can you? One minute you're trying to choke me, the next you've got the hots for me again. This is why I want to go with John," Mary explained, trying to make him mad. "I like a guy who knows exactly who he is. I don't like mama's boys, Jordy."

        His face twitched with fury and pain. With an angry scream, Jordan rushed at her. Mary threw her arms out in front of her and blasted him. Her blasts were still weak, but it was strong enough to knock Jordan back toward Theresa. She held up the pipe. Jordan stumbled, almost flying, into her, and she stabbed the pipe through his body.

        Jordan screamed, the pain showing all over his face. The pipe protruded from the middle of his chest, missing his heart. Mary wondered if it would even matter if they stabbed him in the heart, or cut off his head... would he just keep coming? Theresa shoved him over and then moved away. Jordan fell to his hands and knees.

        "Come on, Mary, let's go!" Theresa grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the opening in the wall.

        As they were running out, Jordan snarled, "You can't get away! This is nothing!"

        "Start the bulldozer!" Theresa was yelling on their way out of the house. She stopped and covered her mouth, stifling a gasp, as she realized John was already on top of it.

        "Way ahead of ya," John called. The bulldozer and crane had been joined by the tractor with the rototiller and the drilling machine. The two latter machines waited for Jordan to come out. They revved like roaring wild animals that couldn't wait to rip apart their prey.

        John waved the women over. Mary and Theresa hurried to the bulldozer and waited there in plain sight, acting as bait.

        When Jordan managed to get to his feet, he didn't even take the time to remove the pipe. He was so angry that he just charged right out of the house. The tractor backed up rapidly, pushing the rototiller behind it.

        Theresa whirled around and screamed, "Paul, hide your eyes!"

        Jordan looked to his right a second before the rototiller backed over him. Its turning blades caught hold of his pant leg and dragged his leg under and into it. He began to scream because he couldn't get away; the blades were like a vacuum, pulling him in. Jordan's entire body was dragged under the spinning row of sharp blades. Blood flowed as they cut him to ribbons.

        With a sick groan, Theresa hid her face. Mary couldn't watch either. John made sure that Paul didn't see it, but he watched every bit of the carnage himself, just to make sure that Jordan did not revive again.

        The blades made loud metallic pinging noises when they struck the pipe coming out of Jordan's chest. When it seemed the rototiller had done as much damage as it could do, John asked the tractor to move it out of the way so he could finish the job. As soon as the blades stopped cutting into him, Jordan attempted to begin putting himself back together. He cried out loudly in pain as his useless limbs moved jerkily through the dirt, and it seemed that he might not be successful in repairing the damage this time.

        John wanted to be sure. He asked the drilling machine to move in now. "You don't want to look yet, any of you."

        Theresa climbed on the side of the bulldozer, reached into the cab, and covered Paul's ears.

        Jordan was twitching and making gagging noises; his blood was running out so fast that he didn't seem to be able to heal his skin back together where it had been shredded and cut. He was able to snarl, "Wiiinchesteeerrrr..." just before the drill bit started to whirl. Theresa much preferred that sound to the noises Jordan was making. But not even the motor of the huge drill could drown out his screaming when the drill bit descended. Blood and tissue was thrown in every direction.

        Even John winced, eventually closing his eyes to the spray of blood and dirt and the mad twitching of what was left of Jordan's arms and legs. Once the other man had nearly stopped making those horrible pain-filled noises, John swallowed hard and said to the drilling machine, _"Now the face."_

        Jordan was some type of monster. No human could heal himself like that, not so quickly, not in a way that allowed him to survive fatal wounds. If John didn't finish him off, Jordan would just come back like he had before. John had to protect Mary, Theresa, and Paul. He hadn't been able to save Beth and Natraya, but he'd make sure no one else died.

        John would protect the innocent, even if it meant his own life.

        "Don't look," he warned again.

        The noises were horrible. But soon, it was all over. The drill had reduced Jordan to something unrecognizable, and John doubted he'd be able to revive. Just to be safe, he asked the drilling machine to park on top of what was left of him. _"If someone else comes along and tries to move you, you stay put, okay?"_ John said to the machine. _"Unless their intention is to bury what's under your wheels, or to burn it. I can't do it right now, so you must guard his remains."_

        The drilling machine sent back a mental nod.

        "Let's go now," Theresa said desperately. "Before anything else happens, let's get out of here."

        "But Natraya..." John began.

        "I'm not staying here any longer!" Theresa snapped, and got behind the wheel of the bulldozer.

        "Mommy," Paul began, "if I asked Natraya to come here, she'd do it. Wouldn't that be easy?"

        Gripping the wheel tightly in her fingers, Theresa held back the urge to snap at her son too. They could have this talk when they got home. For now, she replied, "Yes, that would be easy. Go ahead."

        Paul smiled, proud that he had thought of what seemed like a good solution.

        By the time Natraya laid herself down on the empty ledge behind the cab, Theresa was sobbing to herself. They all tried to avoid looking at the bloody, gaping hole in her chest. She said something to Paul in Thai that none of them could understand, but Theresa thought she knew what it meant - _"Yes, master."_

        "She's still speaking Thai. How does she understand him?" John wondered. "Must be some kind of necromancer thing."

        "He's not a necromancer!" Theresa suddenly shrieked. Everyone jumped, especially Paul. "He's just a little boy!"

        Mary put an arm around her shoulders. "Theresa, we'll be out of here soon. Get a hold of yourself."

        "He's just my little boy," Theresa said to her desperately.

        "Of course. Nothing can change that." Mary patted her shoulder.

        John saw Paul looking forlorn in reaction. He leaned over and told the child, "Go ahead and finish it. It'll be okay. Your mom's just tired."

        Trying to smile, Paul turned to Natraya and said, "Go to sleep."

        She closed her eyes and lay back, motionless, silent, unbreathing.

        "Maybe you better let me drive," Mary suggested.

        A few minutes later, Theresa and Paul were both practically passed out in the passenger seat while Mary drove the bulldozer through the dense forest, knocking down and crushing every tree that stood in their way. Mary drove around any tree that seemed too thick or tall for the bulldozer to handle.

        They had been at it for a good twenty minutes when John leaned as forward as his broken leg would let him and said, "You're a very strong young woman, Mary Campbell. I think I could fall in love with you."

        She grinned to herself. "So go ahead," she replied, and leaned back so they could share their first real kiss, slow and romantic.

        After an hour, Mary was the only one awake. The forest was vast and daunting; she could see why the Yellow-Eyed Man had chosen such an isolated town for his competition.

         _"We never had a clear winner."_

        Mary instantly knew whose voice she was hearing in her head. She looked to her left and saw that they were driving up on the Yellow-Eyed Man. He just stood out there, as if he had always been there.

        Stopping the bulldozer, Mary had a conversation with him in her mind, so the others would not be awakened. _"You don't want to fuck with me anymore tonight. We're going home."_

 _"Such language, Mary. I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave until someone wins my contest. Oh, wait, I've just told a lie."_ He grinned and giggled. _"I'm not sorry at all."_

        Mary just grinned back. He'd never seen such a look on her face. So confident and impish. _"You're going to let us pass without incident. In fact, you're going to forget that any of us even exist. Your generation of 1954 was wiped out. Everyone killed each other. No winner. A failure."_

        The Yellow-Eyed Man laughed. _"And why would I do that?"_

 _"Because you're not a man at all. You've transformed yourself into what I can only describe as demonic energy and possessed an ordinary man. You're the Yellow-Eyed Demon. I don't know your real name, because isn't it bad for demons to reveal their real names to mortals? Gives us power over you. But no matter, because I already have power over you. I've gripped the memory center of the man you're possessing in my talons and I'm not letting go,"_ Mary explained, the grin spreading, crawling, across her face. _"Now I can see what you really are, through his memories."_

 _"I won't forget!"_ the Yellow-Eyed Demon cried.

         _"But you're already forgetting. Isn't it sad for you that you can't escape Hell without possessing someone? People are so fragile, aren't they, Yellow-Eyed Demon? So easy to manipulate, with such twistable minds. Even a mere human like me can bend them to my will. You're just as easy to manipulate as the person you possess. If he forgets, so will you."_ Mary sent him a mental giggle. _"And you **will** forget."_

 _"No!"_

 _"Who am I, Yellow-Eyed Demon?"_

 _"You're Mary, one of the generation of... Mary Cam... Mary..."_

 _"Mary died. Everyone killed each other."_

        She could feel him trying to shake it off. _"The generation of 1954 was a failure. Everyone killed each other."_ He paused, and then screamed, _"NO! That's not right!"_

 _"But it **is** right. You were so disappointed with it that over time, you couldn't even remember their names. That failure was your greatest shame."_

        The Yellow-Eyed Demon suddenly yelled, _"Did your face look that ruthless and evil when you wiped your uncle's mind clean?"_

        Mary, unshaken, just went on smiling. _"I don't know. I'd tell you to ask him, but he wouldn't remember."_

 _"It won't be permanent,"_ the Yellow-Eyed Demon assured. _"One day, you're going to let your guard down, and then I'll remember all of you. And I'll be coming to **get** you."_

        Mentally shrugging, Mary responded, _"I'll take my chances."_

        A few more minutes of working on the man's memory and the Yellow-Eyed Demon let them pass like he didn't even see them. "Such a shame," he said to himself with a shake of his head. "I really thought Mary was a contender for champion."

*****

        By the time they reached a road, another hour had passed, and Mary was exhausted to the point of nearly passing out. Memory manipulation carried to that extent always drained her energy. She was grateful when she saw the car headlights coming to a stop just ten feet from the bulldozer.

        Two young women got out of the car. "I thought you said Mary was here," one said to the other.

        She pointed to the bulldozer. "I did. She's in there."

        The girl glared in disbelief at the machine. "What the hell is she doing driving a bulldozer?!"

        Mary climbed down out of the cab and ran to her two sisters, throwing an arm around each of them. "Jenn! Judy! I'm so glad you found me!"

        Jenn put her first two fingers to her temple. "Took me a bit to home in on you, but I eventually got your location. How the hell did you get in South Dakota?"

        There had been many times when Mary was sorry that her older sister had this psychic power of being able to home in on anyone she wanted like a human radar. When she wanted to hide with a good book and Jenn just wouldn't stop bothering her. When she snuck off to the drive-in with a cute boy. And especially when she and another cute boy made use of an empty room at a party to make out - having your older sister burst in on you to play mother hen when you and the boy were already half naked wasn't Mary's idea of a fun time. But right now? Mary couldn't be happier to be found.

        Judy looked at the other people in the bulldozer, the path of crushed trees behind them, and the dried blood that had run down one side of the machine, and cried, "What the Jesus-jumping-up-and-down-Christ have you been doing?!"

        "I'll be happy to explain it to you. You're not going to believe a word of it, but I'll be happy to explain." Mary started to turn to introduce the others, but the world swayed before her eyes. "Later," she added, and fainted to the ground.


	4. Epilogue: Plastic Dashboard Jesus

**Chapters:** Epilogue  
 **Fandom:** _Supernatural/Miracles_ cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.  
 **Universe:** Plastic Dashboard Jesus  
 **Word Count:** 23,877  
 **Rating:** Rated Adult for violence, language, brief non-con, and gore  
 **Summary:** Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The Yellow-Eyed Demon did.  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:  
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?  
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?  
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.

Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.

Other notes can be found at the end of the story.

  
 **Epilogue: Plastic Dashboard Jesus**

ONE YEAR LATER

        Nuns and other church volunteers were hanging lanterns around the perimeter of St. Jerome's when John and Mary Winchester walked into the church, hand in hand. Their ring fingers both sparkled with gold, hers also sporting a diamond engagement ring. The last year had been very eventful for the couple, and the wedding rings weren't all they had to show for it - Mary looked all of her four months of pregnancy, much to her delight and chagrin. The two of them couldn't stop smiling as they approached one of the nuns, who was cleaning the glass of the lantern in her hand.

        "Hi, can we talk to you for a minute?" Mary asked.

        The nun smiled and set the lantern on one of the pews. "Of course. I'm Sister Elizabeth." She extended a hand to them.

        Mary shook her hand, then John. "Hi Sis," he said, making Mary giggle.

        "How can I help you?" the nun asked.

        "Well, we're John and Mary Winchester, and we're friends with one of your parishioners. You probably know her; Theresa Callan?"

        The nun's smile faltered. John saw it, but Mary just kept going. "We've been trying to get in touch with her to let her know that we were coming to visit, but she doesn't seem to live at the address that we have for her anymore. Do you know where she's gone?"

        Sister Elizabeth put a hand on Mary's upper arm. "Dear, maybe you'd better sit down."

        Biting her bottom lip, Mary asked, "Why?" Her voice shook a little.

        "Well, you're pregnant, aren't you?"

        "Yes."

        Gesturing toward the pew, Sister Elizabeth said, "The news isn't good."

        Mary sat down. John stood behind her and massaged her shoulders. "We talked to her in February, and she told us about the cancer," John put in.

        Mary added, "But she said she beat it. She was going to beat it for Paul." She looked up at Sister Elizabeth with desperation in her eyes. "Theresa's okay, isn't she?"

        The nun shook her head. "I'm sorry. Theresa passed in May."

        They both winced. Her face in her hands, Mary began to cry. "We hadn't heard."

        Sister Elizabeth nodded. "Theresa was well loved by all of us. We saw her through in her last few days. I assure you, we made her as comfortable as possible."

        Suddenly looking up, Mary sobbed, "Paul... where's Paul?"

        The nun took them to the child. Paul, now five, resided at the orphanage next door. His mother's love and warmth stolen from him, Paul sat by himself with a picture book open on his lap, staring forlornly into space. When he saw John and Mary approaching, there was instant recognition.

        "You're John and Mary," Paul said. "I remember you."

        Taking a seat on a nearby stone bench, Mary nodded at him. "Hi Paul."

        He looked at her stomach. "Are you going to have a baby?"

        Mary laughed lightly. "Yeah, I am." She struggled for what to say to him.

        "Oh, good. I asked a lady that one time and turns out she was just fat."

        John snickered. "Bet she got mad, huh?"

        Paul nodded. "A little."

        Fighting not to start crying again, Mary said to him, "Honey, I'm so sorry about your mommy. We just heard." She stroked his hair, trying to be soothing.

        The little boy looked up at her and burst into tears. "You said she wouldn't die," Paul said accusingly. "You promised!"

        Mary couldn't hold it in after that. She opened her arms to Paul and he climbed right in, and they cried together. "I'm sorry, Paul. I'm sorry, baby... I didn't know."

        Twenty minutes later and Mary was still crying as John tried to get her to leave so she could go lie down at the hotel. "Hon, you're pregnant. You can't upset yourself too much right now."

        "But, the poor little boy," she cried, wringing a tissue in her hands. "All alone in the world. His father doesn't want him, and now he's lost the only person in the world who loves him. I can't bear the thought."

        "I know it's sad. It kills me too; he's a good kid. But you should go lie down at the hotel and try to stop thinking about it." John hugged her close.

        "I - I - can't," she stammered. "John... he needs a loving home. Paul needs someone to adopt him."

        "And someone probably will, someday. He's a cute kid."

        "But..." Mary paused a long time. "Why don't _we_ adopt him?"

        In reaction, John missed a step and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. He stared at Mary with wide eyes. "Mary, you can't be serious."

        "We can give him a loving home. You just said yourself he was a great kid."

        "But Mary, we've got a baby of our own on the way! Are we ready to take care of someone else's kid?! He's five!" John said incredulously.

        "That will just make him easier to take care of. Paul already knows how to do many things for himself."

        Unable to believe what she was suggesting, John replied, "No, Mary. It's crazy. I know you feel bad for him, but we can't just take on that kind of responsibility when we've got our first baby on the way."

        Mary began to cry so hard that John could hardly understand her. "I can't just leave him here," she sobbed. "I lost my mom and I know what it feels like not to have one. I can't do that to him. He's such a sweet little boy."

        John, hugging her to him, stroked Mary's hair. "Shh, shhh, calm down. Calm down. We'll talk about it, okay? We'll talk about it."

*****

 _1979_

        "Okay, come in again, Mary. Make it look like you're just walking in from the hospital," John instructed from behind the camera.

        With an amused and proud smile, Mary walked in through the front door with a bundle in her arms. "How many times are you going to make Dean and I come through this door, John?"

        He snapped off a few pictures. "Until I feel like we have enough photos to plaster the whole wall with 'em."

        "Oh, but there are so many other things we can take pictures of. Like Paul with his new baby brother." Looking at the boy sitting on the couch, Mary turned to him and grinned. "Paul, do you still want to hold the baby?"

        Paul had been very shy about holding Dean when John first suggested it. It was almost as if he didn't feel he had the right to hold the baby. But John had talked to him about it, about how Paul was a member of this family now even if they were still dealing with the paperwork and he was just in Kansas on a trial visit. Once the boy realized that John and Mary really did want him to hold Dean, he had gotten very excited about it.

        As Mary stood before him with the bundle, Paul looked up at her, grinning so hard it seemed his face might burst, and bounced up and down. A little pink fist popped up out of the blanket and waved. "Yes, I want to hold the baby! I want to hold Dean!"

        "Alright, now be careful. Support his head." Mary gently laid Dean in Paul's lap. He supported the baby's head just like Mary showed him. "John, you got that camera - "

        As she turned, John took a picture, the flash going off right in her eyes. "Great, now I'm blind."

        John couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, babe." He smiled proudly down at the scene of Paul holding his firstborn son. Although John cared very much for the little boy, Paul was still someone else's child for now. It would take time before he could refer to Paul as his son. He imagined Paul felt the same, as he still called them John and Mary.

        Mary was the only one who wasn't having trouble.

        But it was like Father Calero from St. Jerome's had said - these things take time, a period of adjustment. Paul always looked forward to Father Calero's phone calls, but he hardly noticed that they were being spaced further and further apart.

        "How you doin' there, Paul?" John asked, and took another picture.

        Dean had a strong hold on Paul's finger. The small baby with a head of fine blond hair kicked his legs under the blanket and burbled, blowing a spit bubble. Paul laughed. "He's got my finger."

        "Now you'll never get it back," John joked.

        Paul looked up at him with a worried expression.

        Children... they could take things so literally. "I'm just kidding, Paul. You'll get your finger back."

        Mary went into the kitchen and came back with a fresh bottle. She'd been warming it up while John made her come in the front door again. "You want to feed him?"

        Paul looked up at her in disbelief. "Can I?"

        "Yes, honey. This is just the right temperature." Mary sat on the couch next to Dean's head and handed Paul the bottle, ready to supervise.

        "Are you hungry, Dean?" Paul asked.

        Dean seemed to know the bottle was coming; he started to shake his little fists and fuss for it. With wide eyes, Paul popped the nipple into his mouth. Dean immediately stopped fussing and began to suck greedily. The baby looked up at Paul with a beautiful set of hazel green eyes that sparkled in the light of the camera flash.

        "Wow, can he eat!" Paul exclaimed.

        John and Mary both chuckled. "What do you think of your brother, Paul?" she asked.

        That shyness crept into his eyes for a moment. Then Paul smiled up at her and replied, "He's really _neat_."

*****

 _2005  
Las Vegas, NV_

        "Dean, what the heck were you doing in that souvenir shop for a whole hour?" asked Paul as Dean sprinted out to the Impala.

        Dean opened the driver's side door. "Got you something." He pointed to the cigarette in Paul's hand. "Put that thing out and get in."

        Paul knew his younger adopted brother didn't like anyone smoking in his car, but he had tried to quit three times over the last ten years and had always gone back to the cigs. They were his crutch when things got tough and nerve-wracking. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off the silver crucifix around his neck as he turned and flicked the cigarette across the gravel parking lot, then slid into the passenger seat. "Ooh, what'd you bring me, what'd you bring me?" Paul said in mock-excitement.

        Dean brought a plastic Jesus figure with a suction cup on the bottom out of the paper bag and slapped it onto the dashboard, where the suction cup stuck fast. Jesus bobbled to and fro.

        Laughing, Paul said, "Plastic dashboard Jesus. You found one."

        "They _do_ exist," Dean affirmed, and added, "And, in case he gets lonely..." Dean pulled a similar Virgin Mary from the bag and put her on the dashboard next to Jesus.

        Paul laughed so hard he slapped his knee, then poked the Virgin Mary figure to make her wiggle back and forth. "So how long are you going to let me keep these here?"

        "As long as you want."

        "You're kidding. You, the atheist, with two religious figures in plain sight in your car? Your baby?" Paul leaned toward the dashboard Jesus and Mary. "Don't get comfortable."

        Dean rolled his eyes. "I can deal with 'em. It's important to you. And I want you to be happy." He poked both figures and sent them bobbing. "I love you, man."

        Staring at Dean for a few seconds, Paul finally replied, "What is it you want? You want first choice of beds tonight? What?"

        Dean feigned offense. "I can't do something nice for you?"

        "When you do something this nice? You want a favor."

        "Okay... I do want a favor."

        Paul nodded his head. "Uh huh."

        Dean just launched into it. "Can you make yourself scarce tonight? I met a couple of twins in the souvenir shop and it turns out they're magician's assistants. I kinda want the room to myself for a few hours, okay? I mean, magician's assistants, man. Do you know how flexible they have to be to fit into those little boxes?"

        Raising an eyebrow, Paul said, "Twins, huh? Sure. I'll make myself scarce. But I get to _accidentally_ walk in on you in the later hours. You'll conk out eventually and you know it."

        "Sure, if you want my sloppy seconds," Dean laughed.

        "Dude, _magician's assistants_. I'll take 'em."

        "And you kept talking about becoming a _priest_ when you were a teenager. Aren't you glad that didn't stick?"

        They looked at each other and laughed.

        Dean started the car. "We'll take the night off and head for Stanford in the morning."

        "Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Paul put a hand on Dean's arm. "I thought we were investigating the displaced Bermuda Triangle thing next."

        Turning the car off, Dean just sat there quietly for a few seconds before he spoke. "I can't shake the feeling that something bad has happened to Dad. He's never gone this long without checking in with us."

        "Or checking up on us," Paul amended with a grin.

        "That too." Dean sighed. "I'd just feel a lot better if we checked in with Sammy, see if he's heard from Dad. He's always been really good at finding people."

        "When they want to be found..." Paul wasn't so sure that their father hadn't disappeared on purpose. "Maybe Dad just needs some time to himself."

        "No, this one... this one gives me a bad feeling." A serious expression on his face, Dean looked at Paul again. "Let's go see Sammy tomorrow."

        With a sympathetic smile, Paul agreed. "Okay. I just hope he'll be happy to see his wayward, oversexed brothers."

        "You may be oversexed. I can never get enough." Dean tried to start the car again, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

        "Bucket of bolts," Paul mumbled.

        "You take that back, or Jesus is winding up on the railroad tracks." _Rrr rr, rrr rr..._ "Come on baby, be good to me, sweetheart. I'll give you some loving care in the morning. Right now, I need you to start."

        The Impala instantly responded, revving up with its trademark deep rumble.

        Dean patted the steering wheel. "Thank you, beautiful."

        "You're welcome, darling," Paul joked.

        Smacking his arm lightly, Dean pulled out of the parking lot. "Put in a tape, wiseass. No fucking Eagles. I've had it up to my ears with The Eagles."

        "Hey, could be worse," Paul reminded him. "Could be Sam's music."

        Both laughing heartily, they drove off to their motel, plastic dashboard Jesus and Mary bobbing all the way.

  
The last AU question answered by this story: What if John and Mary Winchester had adopted Paul Callan?

Jenn is named after **Dodgegirl22** , one of the persons who volunteered to have me name a character after them. Sister Elizabeth is named for **Mooserat** , who was a stripper in another story. Now she's a nun. *snicker*

I chose Paul's middle name based on the Archangels, since Theresa was such a religious woman. I don't like the name Michael for personal reasons, and Gabriel is really the only reasonable one left. Besides, it sounds good with Paul. :)

I came up with the ideas that Theresa and Paul are empaths and that Paul is a necromancer on my own; they do not come from the series. Although, I got the idea that Paul was an empath from what I call "empath moments" on the show. But they never expressly stated that he was one.

The Thai used in this story:  
Sawatdee = Hello  
Haa! = What the hell!  
Taet = Demon  
Asoon = Evil spirit  
Tam = Part of a Thai word that I'm using as a name here

  
 **The Generation of 1954** (c) 2007 Demented Stuff  
 **Supernatural** (c) 2005+ Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television  
 **Miracles** is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television


End file.
